Dear Granny D
I have come to you because the so-called Psychiatrist I had been seeing, namely Alexander B. Huckleheimer, last Friday finally reached his earth-shattering conclusion regarding my condition; and, to be quite honest, it has not only left me gobsmacked, but destitute too! Believe it or not, it took that shyster five months, three weeks and four days to diagnose my systematic cleaning up as being synonymous with Ataxophobia. Such was my astonishment, after dusting down his bookshelves and arranging his reference books into alphabetical order, I demanded a full and frank explanation. What was his considered response?... he offered me a job as a part-time cleaner!
According to ABH, who, incidentally, is not only an expert on the human psyche, but also at sucking every last penny from my bank account, I have a fear of untidiness. Well worth the £4,800 he’s taken from me over the past six months, I must say. Unfortunately, my eight-year-old granddaughter could have told me that for a tube of Smarties and a can of friggin’ Tango! What a rip-off! I poured my heart out to this chap; the least he could do is blame it on the abuse I suffered as a child.
Trust me, I was so annoyed, I picked up the first thing that came to hand (a piece of African tribal art pottery, as it goes) and I placed it firmly on the floor. Indeed, my intention was to throw it against the nearest wall, though I obviously didn't want to smash it to pieces as those tiny terracotta shards are an absolute pain to get out of shag pile carpets, especially when it's a reddish brown. You know they're in there, you just can't see them.
Anyway, by the time the Security Guard had escorted me from the building, ABH was left in no doubt as to how angry I was, despite the fact I replaced the art pottery on the way out.
I have come to you because the so-called Psychiatrist I had been seeing, namely Alexander B. Huckleheimer, last Friday finally reached his earth-shattering conclusion regarding my condition; and, to be quite honest, it has not only left me gobsmacked, but destitute too! Believe it or not, it took that shyster five months, three weeks and four days to diagnose my systematic cleaning up as being synonymous with Ataxophobia. Such was my astonishment, after dusting down his bookshelves and arranging his reference books into alphabetical order, I demanded a full and frank explanation. What was his considered response?... he offered me a job as a part-time cleaner!
According to ABH, who, incidentally, is not only an expert on the human psyche, but also at sucking every last penny from my bank account, I have a fear of untidiness. Well worth the £4,800 he’s taken from me over the past six months, I must say. Unfortunately, my eight-year-old granddaughter could have told me that for a tube of Smarties and a can of friggin’ Tango! What a rip-off! I poured my heart out to this chap; the least he could do is blame it on the abuse I suffered as a child.
Trust me, I was so annoyed, I picked up the first thing that came to hand (a piece of African tribal art pottery, as it goes) and I placed it firmly on the floor. Indeed, my intention was to throw it against the nearest wall, though I obviously didn't want to smash it to pieces as those tiny terracotta shards are an absolute pain to get out of shag pile carpets, especially when it's a reddish brown. You know they're in there, you just can't see them.
Anyway, by the time the Security Guard had escorted me from the building, ABH was left in no doubt as to how angry I was, despite the fact I replaced the art pottery on the way out.
What I want to know, Granny D, is have I any grounds for taking this fraudster to court under the Trade Descriptions Act? I could have bought two Kirby vacuums (one for upstairs, one for down), a professional steam cleaner with attachments, and a year's supply of Harpic for that amount of money.
I had thought of contacting Watchdog but that poor woman, Annie Robinson, has enough problems of her own when it comes to scammers from the medical profession swindling the general public out of their hard-earned cash.
Surely there must be something I can do?
Yours sincerely
Roger Fellows
Pictured right: Putting a brave face on it... Ann keeps smiling, even when the heat of the studio lights take their toll.
Dear Roger
There is something you can do, yes; bring your vac round to my house next Tuesday. The last time I gave it the once over, I clogged up my little Goblin with shrapnel left over from the second World War. Only kidding, Sweetie, I usually wait for my neighbour to pop round for a natter and pretend the old arthritis is playing up. It usually does the trick.
So, let’s start with your obsessive cleaning problem, shall we? It sounds to me like Huckleheimer was opting for the bog standard explanation for your syptoms. To be honest, I'm never all that surprised when these so called 'Psychiatrists' try and palm you off with what they laughingly refer to as a 'classic case diagnosis'. I always think it shows a lack of insight into the complex workings of the human mind. Not just that, it also shows a lack of perception, compassion, and, not least of all, sensitivity. Yes, I suppose it could be Ataxophobia but, it could just as easily turn out to be that you’re a latent homosexual. Is Huckleheimer blind, or what?! For goodness’ sake, your name alone provides some sort of clue.
However, never been one for jumping to conclusions, I have devised a short questionnaire that will help you determine whether you fall into the mince and mirrors category.
1. Which of these meals would you prefer?
a) Quarter-Pounder with Fries b) KFC Bargain Bucket c) Tuna & Sweetcorn Pasta Bake
2. What type of footwear do you consider to be practical for walking down the street?
a) Doc Martens b) Trainers c) Mules
3. Which of these TV programs would you prefer to watch?
a) Match of the day b) UFC c) Neighbours
4. Which of these pop groups would you prefer to listen to?
a) Guns N' Roses b) Slipknot c) Bronski Beat
5. How do you like your cock?
a) Rubberised b) Bareback c) On for fun, off to cum
If my instincts are right, luvvie, and this had have been an input questionnaire, I reckon the 'c' button on your keyboard would have be getting warm round about now, yes?
Of course, what the readers won't be aware of, Roger, is that you and I have also spoken on the phone. So I know all about your traumatic marriage break-up in 2010. It must have been so difficult for you, finding your wife in bed with three of your neighbours. Not only that, but having the misfortune to walk in at the very moment that black man was trying to unknot himself from your missus. Maybe it was the shock of how it all came out that was the trigger for your behaviour (how the revelation came out, that is; I didn't mean the... well, you know). You must have been absolutely devastated. I can only hope you found solace in cleaning up the aftermath.
I had thought of contacting Watchdog but that poor woman, Annie Robinson, has enough problems of her own when it comes to scammers from the medical profession swindling the general public out of their hard-earned cash.
Surely there must be something I can do?
Yours sincerely
Roger Fellows
Pictured right: Putting a brave face on it... Ann keeps smiling, even when the heat of the studio lights take their toll.
Dear Roger
There is something you can do, yes; bring your vac round to my house next Tuesday. The last time I gave it the once over, I clogged up my little Goblin with shrapnel left over from the second World War. Only kidding, Sweetie, I usually wait for my neighbour to pop round for a natter and pretend the old arthritis is playing up. It usually does the trick.
So, let’s start with your obsessive cleaning problem, shall we? It sounds to me like Huckleheimer was opting for the bog standard explanation for your syptoms. To be honest, I'm never all that surprised when these so called 'Psychiatrists' try and palm you off with what they laughingly refer to as a 'classic case diagnosis'. I always think it shows a lack of insight into the complex workings of the human mind. Not just that, it also shows a lack of perception, compassion, and, not least of all, sensitivity. Yes, I suppose it could be Ataxophobia but, it could just as easily turn out to be that you’re a latent homosexual. Is Huckleheimer blind, or what?! For goodness’ sake, your name alone provides some sort of clue.
However, never been one for jumping to conclusions, I have devised a short questionnaire that will help you determine whether you fall into the mince and mirrors category.
1. Which of these meals would you prefer?
a) Quarter-Pounder with Fries b) KFC Bargain Bucket c) Tuna & Sweetcorn Pasta Bake
2. What type of footwear do you consider to be practical for walking down the street?
a) Doc Martens b) Trainers c) Mules
3. Which of these TV programs would you prefer to watch?
a) Match of the day b) UFC c) Neighbours
4. Which of these pop groups would you prefer to listen to?
a) Guns N' Roses b) Slipknot c) Bronski Beat
5. How do you like your cock?
a) Rubberised b) Bareback c) On for fun, off to cum
If my instincts are right, luvvie, and this had have been an input questionnaire, I reckon the 'c' button on your keyboard would have be getting warm round about now, yes?
Of course, what the readers won't be aware of, Roger, is that you and I have also spoken on the phone. So I know all about your traumatic marriage break-up in 2010. It must have been so difficult for you, finding your wife in bed with three of your neighbours. Not only that, but having the misfortune to walk in at the very moment that black man was trying to unknot himself from your missus. Maybe it was the shock of how it all came out that was the trigger for your behaviour (how the revelation came out, that is; I didn't mean the... well, you know). You must have been absolutely devastated. I can only hope you found solace in cleaning up the aftermath.
So here's my advice; you must move on with your life, Roger. Put down your duster and pick up your bandana, Sweetie. A clean house is the sign of a bored mind. Here's something I want you to try. This coming weekend, I want you to order a large pizza from Pizza Hut (Incidentally, there's no significance in Pizza Hut other than, if someone from their marketing department reads this, I may cop for the odd freebie or two for the advertisement). And I want you to leave the crust, box and all, out on the coffee table until the next morning. I know it sounds like a huge step to take, and you may even lose sleep whilst your thinking about it, but believe me, hon', you'll find it a liberating experience. If you can manage to do that, next week you'll be able to move on to coffee cup rings and kebab meat down the back of the sofa. Look at me, I used to be houseproud to a fault; now I think nothing of leaving my knickers hanging over the radiator in my boudoir for three or four days whist I wait for a washer load to build up. And before you ask, yes, I do have an Ali Baba. He lives across the road at number 23 and spends most of his time pointing his telescope at my bedroom window.
Pictured above right: Granny D's favourite... Italian base pepperoni pizza with chicken wings, as endorsed by Granny D.
As for the court action, I rather think you’re wasting your time wandering down that little avenue. I once actually met Hucklehheimer at a Schizophrenia Seminar. I’d thought of challenging his questionable theories there and then, but I ended up leaving the seminar in two minds. What I can tell you is that he used to be a Barrister, so he’ll not only be a money grabber, he’ll also be a shifty little bastard as well. I’m afraid you’ll just have to put this one down to experience.
Pictured above right: Granny D's favourite... Italian base pepperoni pizza with chicken wings, as endorsed by Granny D.
As for the court action, I rather think you’re wasting your time wandering down that little avenue. I once actually met Hucklehheimer at a Schizophrenia Seminar. I’d thought of challenging his questionable theories there and then, but I ended up leaving the seminar in two minds. What I can tell you is that he used to be a Barrister, so he’ll not only be a money grabber, he’ll also be a shifty little bastard as well. I’m afraid you’ll just have to put this one down to experience.
Bon appétit
Granny D
Granny D
