I can barely bring myself to look at you, and I blame my mother — Dear Iron, I know. We’re 6 weeks into 2023 and I still haven’t touched you. You remain trapped in the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, alone, lonely, and gathering dust and spiderwebs at an alarming rate. (If it’s any consolation, I’m in a similar situation myself.) The thing is, I…

I don’t think we’re singing from the same carol sheet. — Dear True Love, Partridges don’t live in pear trees. Partridges hang about in hedgerows and shrubs and patches of long grass. Partridges are short, plump, dumpy things, you see. They’re not the type of bird that likes being in the air. Their dense little bodies make them gravity’s bitch. When…

Don’t even think about it, beardy. — Dear Santa Baby, Listen up, pal. My dog and I are easily spooked, and while we appreciate that you want to bestow us with gifts, we kindly ask that this year you leave them on the doorstep instead of breaking and entering via the chimney. This is my first Christmas…

I need you to clarify something because my self-esteem is on the line. — Dear Men, Is it my dog you think is “nice”, or are you calling me a “nice dog”? I only ask because I’m chronically insecure and men make me nervous, and I can never quite tell when you guys are hitting on me, when you’re merely being polite, and when…

I’m just looking for closure at this point. — Dear Lost Hair Ties, Have I wronged you? Have I treated you unkindly? Have I said something to offend? I’d love to know what it is I’ve done to justify you all upping and disappearing without so much as a wave goodbye. I remove you from my hair, put you…

She is sorry. No, I swear. — Dear Mr Woodlouse, She wanted to be your friend. I know it doesn’t seem that way given that she stamped on you so unexpectedly with her great big clodhopping paws, but I promise you her tail was wagging. And it wasn’t a gleeful “I’m stomping this fucker to high heaven”…

You mess with my dog, you mess with me. — Dear Friend, I use the term ‘friend’ tentatively and I’m sure you can understand why. I’m hopeful that friendship is on the cards, but I can’t rule out the possibility that you’re out to kill me, or at the very least you’re out to torture me psychologically. After all, you…

I have a lot of questions that I’m too shy to ask. — Dear Neighbour, Why have you left a giant jar of something pickled in the street? All you have to do is pour the vinegar away and fish out the few remaining chunks of flesh (at least they look like chunks of flesh to me) and then you can toss the…

Sorry. I’m mortified. You’ll bounce back, right? Dear Spider, Christ. That was quite the battle we had there, huh? I guess I’ll start by saying sorry, but I have to admit it’d be nice to hear an apology on your end, too. You didn’t ask for permission before making yourself…

Stop calling my name. — Dear Mature Cheddar, Stop. Stop it! Stop calling my name, you bastard. Don’t tempt me. Don’t lure me in. Don’t tell me to eat you now. You’re supposed to form the crozzled crust of a pasta bake. You’re destined to be grated generously over the top of a steaming-hot baked…

I think you know exactly what you’re doing but just in case… can we talk? — Dear Roof-Dwelling Cats, I’m reluctant to write this letter lest you leave a densely packaged and potently scented gift on my doorstep (it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?), but things are getting out of hand on my bathroom roof and it’s about time I put my foot down. …

Dear Lost Forks, I’d like to begin by thanking you for your vital, if short-lived, service. Over the past few months, you have done important work in aid of my taste buds and my stomach. You helped me to shovel pasta into my mouth at a rate that is almost superhuman. You allowed…

I need you to help me out, mate, whatever you are. — I don’t know whether you’re a fox, or a cat, or particularly large and carnivorous squirrel, or a creaky, creepy, skeletal human who has crawled out of one of the 150-year-old graves, or an alive-and-kicking human who likes to have his dinner in an old, ramshackle graveyard of all places…

RE: Barbecue season Dear British Sunshine, I know you’re shy. I get it — I’m shy too. That’s why I’m writing this letter instead of screaming at you from my backyard. …