It just goes to show that 'you can take a horse to water but you cannot make it drink’ or in Miss Proudfoot’s case ‘you can take a whore to culture but you cannot make her think’. Huumph. Fawcett. Pass the Port.

Bump! Ooooowh! Balderdash! Doctor! Blast this for a game of soldiers, I’m off! Nursing a sore derriere I return home with my tail between my legs, my bowler hat crushed and my ego severely dented. What on earth is a man to do? Peeved. Fawcett.

Y’Gads, I implore, watch over me. With a firm resolve and a freshly stiffened upper lip I enter the paddock in Pirbright sitting on piebald pony. By Jupiter. Fawcett.

Alas the sweet agony Aunt ultimately neglected to heed her own sage wisdom and on finding her chosen vocation somewhat unfulfilling, fell into a debauched existence a seedy life punctuated with heavy drinking and easy virtue. Fawcett: Note to self to take more water with it.

Ah, Miss Proudfoot. Now there’s a name to conjure with! For many years she had been the pen behind Aunt Prudence, with her widely admired column published in the popular ‘Gals Own’ weekly. Prudence Proudfoot, for this was she, was well known for doling out sound advice on spotty complexion problems and appropriate behaviour with one's first boyfriend etc. Toodle Pip. Fawcett.

Painfully aware of my lack of horsemanship and with needs most apparent, I have taken the bit between my teeth as it were and enrolled in Miss Proudfoot’s Equestrian Academy for the sons and daughters of the Nobility in Surrey. What Ho! Fawcett.