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© Belinda Carbuncle

Ask Dr Buncle
Dr Buncle himself

In this series we invite you to challenge our resident genius, Dr Slim Paul, with those perplexing questions that keep you up and tossing all night.

If you have a question that you want to put to Dr Buncle send it to us here

A plea from, errrm, Monster 'hhhooommmm hhhooommmm korma korma' Slippers:
Dear Dr Buncle, please help us, how can we stop our overly hairy flatmate from playing Marilyn Manson songs very loudly at all hours of the day and/or night? We have already tried to teach her a lesson with the help of Wham, Sealion Dion, and of course Belinda Carbuncle, but to no avail. Is there help out there or should we kill ourselves now before the crazy crazy lyrics force us to mutilate some puppies? Thankyou very much.

The Doctor is genuinely concerned:
An overly hairy girly?? I know a certain slim guitarist who'd love to pop round and help her, ahem, mutilate some puppies. Is she freckly too?

  Overly hairy girly  

Ginger tosser (self-confessed)  

Young Claire from dampest Nottingham asks:
Dear Dr Buncle,
What is your opinion on the magnificent and beautiful Kenny Branagh? And why do you have your hands up the bums of two squirrels?

Dr Buncle humbly replies:
Who am I to judge the merits of mighty thespians? I prefer to let Mr Branagh speak for himself. As for those squirrels, my solicitor has advised me to say nothing, but the truth is it was all above board and in a good cause, they were teaching children not to drop litter, honest. Anyway, they told me to do it.

Slim Steve puts two and two together:
Oi, Dr Buncle! Are you still alive? How come your words of wisdom on the 'Ask Dr Buncle' problem page ceased at the same time as Dr Shipman went down for a stretch at Her Majesty's pleasure? If we don't see a problem solved soon, I'm afraid we'll have to conclude that you and the evil Shipman are one and the same. You bastard.

Dr Buncle defends himself stoutly:
Nope, not a Shipman I, nor never shall be. Gentle Chaucer had him sussed - "Of nyce conscience took he no keep". Indeed. Me, I'm more your Doctour of Phisyk, or at worst your Clerk of Oxenford, or at best your foul-mouthed Roger the Cook.

  A Shipman was ther  

Nick blurting  

Mafro's mind turns once again to nether matters:
Out of all the letters in the alphabet, why on earth did they decide to put the letter "Y" on the front of pants?
Yours in anticipation of an answer, Mafro

Before Dr Buncle can utter a word, Lovestick blurts out:
My pants normally have P all over the front!
Slick Nick

Uh oh, Laura's in a state:
dear dr buncle, how on earth am i s'posed to get my Name Studies project done when your links are so crap?
P.S. stop pretending you haven't... the rest of the world knows you've joined the establishment, face up to it mate.

Dr Buncle sez:
Shhhhhh!!! Dear Lord, can't a chap keep a secret round here?? Anyway, my links are spot on - that Todd Landers got what was coming to him I say. A van. To be honest I'm just trying to keep a low profile while Slim Steve and Slick Nick sort out their musical differences. Besides, the establishment doesn't want me any more, I'm out on my ear in a month. There was a man on the radio today who said "A true intellectual is someone who, if left alone in a room with a tea-cosy, will not attempt to try it on". I like that, that means I'm saved from crusty academia after all. I'll have one with a pom-pom on please.

  Dr Buncle caught out  



Our one and only fan, mad Amy, who is mad, has a question for Dr Buncle:
hello old chap,
im stuck in college pissing around and i was wondering, is it at all possible to create a guilt drug, and what would i need to make it?? not that i would (uhum)
amy (drunken and scottish)

The worldly-wise Doc smiles knowingly, with perhaps just a glimmer of remorse in his ageing eye:
A guilt drug eh? I've always found the following ingredients work rather well:
1. Sugar
2. Spice
3. All things nice
4. Pub

Slim Steve, former guitarist with world-famous pop outfit Belinda Carbuncle, writes:
Dear Dr Buncle, I recently received a brown envelope through the post, containing a glorious picture of Carol (Up The Arris) Vorderman wearing a Belinda Carbuncle World Tour T-shirt™. She looked great - but so would anybody in a Belinda Carbuncle World Tour T-shirt™. Then I saw the same Carol (Up The Arris) Vorderman on TV telling me I could consolidate all my existing loans into one manageable monthly repayment. Now, a feature which I admire in any lady is a nose (such as worn by our vixen of the vowels when pictured in our t-shirt). However, when viewing our Carol on telly as she sorted out Mr & Mrs Dett-Ridden's finances, she appeared to have no nose, and I couldn't help wondering... how does she smell? Yours in consonant wonder, Slim Brother Buncle

Dr Buncle wearily responds:
Dear Slim Steve, I fear you are confusing the omniscient Carol ("I'll have four on top and one from the bottom") Vorderman with her assistant Richard ("What a cunt I am, chortle chortle") Whiteley. Look closely at the picture, and you'll see that Carol smells delectable.

  The legendary Belinda Carbuncle World Tour t-shirt - so funky every bastard wants one

Slim Steve hits hard times


Slim Steve's tapping at the window again:
Dear Dr Buncle,
Now that it appears inevitable that I shall be homeless at the end of May, I was wondering which option you would recommend when begging:
(a) The "Look, I've got a dog on a piece of string" approach.
(b) The "I'm not homeless, I'm just 50p short of my bus fare" scenario.
(c) The 'hang around cash-points being Scottish' caper.
My only alternative seems to be to move into Slick Nick's house when he's not looking... Please help!
Your destitute brother.

Dr Buncle looks away pretending he's seen something really interesting in a shop window.


A disorientated Slim Paul pleads:
Dearest Dr Buncle, where the fuck am I???

His wiser and smugger alter-ego is ready with an answer:
Dear shitforbrains, look out the window. Twat.

  Oh yeah

Prize wanker   Ages and ages ago, poor newly-toothless friend-to-the-stars Davee Wild of Shitting-yet-rokkin-bourne asked something about that silly red mowy (as illustrated), but, errrrm, Dr Buncle has carelessly lost the missive in question. Sorry. It went something like:
Dear wise and noble Dr B.,
That silly red mowy, what was all that about then?
Yours in utter admiration, Davee

Dr Buncle attempts to hide his blushes and mumbles:
Dear Dave, it's like this. There I was, eating chips and contemplating the flock wallpaper, when all of a sudden in burst the Old Bill and snapped this incriminating picture of Gordon's Locked Cupboard in situ. We think he kept painters and decorators in there. Thankfully Slick Nick got his revenge with motor oil, thus manfully losing everyone's deposits and enabling Gordon to buy a new hoover. I hope this helps, yours truly Dr B.

Our long-lost chum Ex-Teacher-Now-Something-Dull-And-Computery Dave muses:
Having been away from East Kent for a couple of years now, I'm missing the taste of a Whitstable Oyster. Dr Buncle, the last time you lapped at a Whitstable Oyster, did they still taste fresh? Apparently older ones taste more salty!?! Please Doctor help me!!!!
Teacher Dave

After a moment's experimentation, the learned Dr B. quietly eructs:
Ughh. 'Orrid spunky things.


Nicky Wicky   Dear old Janner Dave blurts out:
How can a man feel like a woman?

Dr Buncle pauses for a moment, coughs discretely, resettles those stylish spectacles upon the bridge of his distinguished and considerable nose, and expounds with confidence:
Too much thrumming.

Our humble servant Mafro poses a tricky problem:
When wanking in the bath, cum always floats on the top of the water, and sticks to the hairs on your legs. It is then extremely difficult to remove from the hairs because of the stickiness of the semen. What is the best thing to use to remove sticky semen from the hairs on my legs?
Matt The Afro Selfe.

Slick Nick pipes up:
I've always wondered this too!

And the good Doctor swiftly advises:

  Monkey boy, tell me what your story is

Young Amy is all in a tiz:
dearest dr paul
im at a loss!! my dearest mother has gone away this week, marvellous i hear u say internet, digital and booze supply but my friend she has also left me with 2 dogs one of which we have recently adopted to prevent him getting put down!
anyway these 2 dogs DONT get on and the stress of college and work is getting to me how can i make these dogs friends so i dont have to kill myself so i dont kill them!!! please help!
amy (the mad scottish one)

Dr Buncle rattles the old choke chain:
Ridicule them, belittle them, show each dog how pathetic he really is. Once their self-esteem is destroyed they will be putty in your hands. Ha ha ha! HA HA HA HA HA HA! HAA HAAA HAAAA kha pfff urgh hic NURRRRRRRSE!?!

A certain learned gentleman, whose anonymity we have agreed to preserve, opens his heart and mouth:
Dear Dr Buncle, I'm worried about my drink-related Tourettes, it's getting out of hand, can you FISTFUCK help me?

Dr Buncle, who understands all too well the miraculous and medicinal effects of booze, offers some practical advice:
Sorry chum, you'll just CUNT have to drink less.
  Beer beer beer tiddly beer beer beer tiddly beer beer beer tiddly beer beer beer tiddly beer beer beer tiddly beer

Babies, walking or otherwise   Our most inquisitve visitor, Janner Dave the ex-Plymothian, has been thinking:
Dear Buncle, I've been thinking, what's the earliest age that a baby has ever learnt to walk?

Dr Buncle hesitates before responding:
Sorry Dave, but I'd rather not answer that one, just in case the sweet stupid folk of Newport get the idea that I'm a paediatrician. And, at the risk of sounding pedantic, I'd like to add that I'm not a pedicurist either, or a pedestrian, or a pedalo-operator, or a pedigree alsation, or (thank fuck) Welsh.

Regular fretter Dave the Janner today puts before us a charmingly simple query:
Dr B., my good fellow! Can you tell me what the tongue is made of? Much obliged, chee'o!

The good Doctor replies with confidence:
Why, certainly Dave. The tongue is made of tongue. It is, if you'll pardon my diction, a fleshy organ, equally vital to mastication and the articulation of free speech. Use it liberally!
Yours truly, Dr Buncle

Benny struggled to keep up as Miss Diane explained pores and glands   In today's postbag, two worried chaps ponder the niceties of onanism. Our faithful friend Billy Spew wonders:
Which hand is it best to really masturbate with, or is being ambidextrous the way to go?

And a tormented young academic asks:
Dr. Docktor,
It's 3pm and I'm at work writing lectures full of skank,
Should I relieve my boredom and ... have a wank?
lovingly, one of the other Docs around here

After careful consideration, here is Dr Buncle's first and final word on the subject:
They're bringing Crossroads back next year, but apparently it won't have Benny in it.

Dave The Janner from Elburton, Bottom Left, has a toponymic puzzle for the good doctor:
Aaareet 'andsome! Me again. There I was, travelling at speed through beautiful Gloucestershire, when a signpost flashed past which seemed to indicate Iron Action! Gosh, I thought, what's all that about then? That Dr Buncle, he's sure to know. So go on, tell us all, proper job. Yours eagerly, Janner Dave

Dr Buncle promptly spouts forth:
Dear Dave, thank you for the first of what I imagine will be a flood of onomastic enquiries. It was Iron Acton that you saw, a village whose name is recorded in the Domesday Book as Actune (from Old English ac 'oak' + tun 'farmstead, estate'), which we may interpret either as 'farmstead by the oak-trees' or 'farmstead where oak timber is worked'. The name "Acton" being relatively common, places so named are often distinguished from each other, as here, by the addition of a qualifying affix. The "Iron" element (Old English iren 'iron'), first noted in 1248 in the form Irenactone, refers to old iron-workings nearby. Yours dully, Dr Buncle
  Summertime in Iron Acton

Swedish Girl mark two

Our distraught Swedish friend Ta veran frets terribly:
Doktor B. Jag har upplevt en konstig känsla om min syster, hon befinner sig långt borta och jag saknar henne. Tänk om hon trivs så bra där hon är att hon inte vill komma tillbaka! Tänk om hon har blivit förälskad eller att hon hålls kvar av någon galning som försöker få henne att stanna!! Hur ska jag göra för att få tillbaka min syster och lugna min egen oro???

Dr Buncle offers a little reassurance:
Fear not, my good fellow! Your lovely sister is in safe hands, as is her bottom. Yours contentedly, Dr B.

Miss X from a few roads away fights back the tears to ask:
Dearest Dr B. It's been three days now since my beloved pussy cat mysteriously disappeared, and I'm having terrible trouble coping with this awful feeling of loneliness. But today I spotted the most delightful puppy dog for sale in our local pet-shop, and the temptation to buy him is enormous. In my heart of hearts I know that my poor little cat isn't coming back... would it be so very wrong of me to seek to replace one furry friend with another so soon?

Dr Buncle advises:
Yeah, whatever, why not. But remember, a dog is for life, not just for beating senseless with a weighty piece of copper tubing.


Anne, the boss-eyed girl off Neighbours  

Anne, the boss-eyed girl off Neighbours, shyly asks:
Dear Dr Buncle,
Do you think there's any chance I'll ever pull Slim Steve, what with my boss-eyes and everything
Yours girlishly,
Anne (the boss-eyed girl off Neighbours)

Dr Buncle warmly vouchsafes an avuncular word:
Go for it, love! Don't be intimidated by young Steve's pop-star status... there's a tender-hearted softy lurking behind that beer-addled conk. One word of advice though - you're better off out of them Philippa Flabby-Arms Forrester leather trousers. No one likes a placcy thigh.

We all want to know:
Why are both Nick's legs shorter than the other?

Dr Buncle duly supposes:
Too much thrumming?
  Slick Nick, top pop thrummer

Fish or fowl?

  Dave The Janner from Brighton (nee Plymouth) can't help but wonder:
Aaareet Dr Buncle, morning 'andsome! Can you tell me roight, an' drectly, is it that rhubarb is veg or fruit, there y'go, proper job, yours in anticipation, our Dave, chee'o!

Dr Buncle rather unhelpfully replies:
Dearest Janner Dave, know what, I didn't have a clue just what rhubarb was, so I looked it up in the thingummy and it said "Any of various plants of the genus Rheum, especially Rheum rhaponticum, producing long fleshy dark-red leaf-stalks used cooked as food". So it's not a fruit and it's not a vegetable, it's just a plant. Probably best not to eat it at all then. Though I must concede that crumble is a better dish in sum than its parts would suggest. Custard, on the other hand, sadly lives up to expectations. But beer is nice. Yours utterly, Dr B.

Pudding the missing cat begs to know:
Can I come in now?

Dr Buncle sez:
Too late, mate. Damage is done.

  Pudding - alive!

Murderer   Slim Steve Carbuncle from the once legendary swing-jazz trio Boxing Codpiece pleads for assistance:
Where's Pudding the cat?? Vicky says I must've let her out the front door when I sneaked out of the house this morning...

Dr Buncle thoughtfully replies:
Oooooh, tricky one Sir! Chances are Pudding is out on the tiles enjoying a taste of freedom. She's quite a looker, I recall. Of course, if she's gone and got run over then that's the end of your sordid fling with Vicky, cos girls really hate it when you kill their cat. And in any case you'd better think twice about this playing away from home nonsense, cos her other half's gonna mash you when he reads this. Very fond of that cat, he was.


Young David (The) Wild (Man Of Rock) from deepest Shittingbourne asks:
what do u use on your mohawk???????

Dr Buncle courteously replies:
Why, only the purest moistness of Swedish girls, lovingly applied strand by strand. Observe the marvellous bleaching quality when exposed to sunlight!

Swedish Girl mark one

Monet Monet Monet

The good Dr Diffident from our glorious murky capital ponders:
Dear Dr Buncle,
Is Monet the root of all evil, or is that a false impression?
Yours in anticipation,
Dr Diffident

Dr Buncle wisely responds:
Arrr, he were a wrong'un alright. And a failed suicide to boot. As my dear old grandmother used to say, "Radix malorum est stupiditas (I Timothy vi.10)". Or was it "I think I've wet myself"?

All-knowing all-dancing Humphrey, gentleman of the Cap, kindly remarks:
Great evening lads, pity the other band didn't show up but who cared. Elvis lives, apparently.

Dr Buncle wryly raises a single ridiculous eyebrow:
Aha! So you spotted him, eh? In a cunningly successful bid to outwit the frenzied and frothing global media, our friend the King made the brave decision to lose height - three and a bit feet of it - before embarking on a grass-roots spit'n'sawdust comeback tour of south-west Canterbury. Rong rive lock 'n' loll!
  Rawdy rawdy rawdy Miss Crawdy

Saussure, back when the world was black and white (but no fan of corned beef apparently)   Ms Eva Banana of Wigan writes:
Dear Dr. Buncle,
I recently stumbled across the name Ferdinand de Saussure whilst researching Indo-European dialects. However I can't seem to find out anything about him. Can you help?

Dr Buncle eruditely replies:
So, Ferdinand de Saussure (1857-1913), eh? Generally regarded as the founder of present-day linguistics, he wrote very little during his lifetime (but some of his pupils seem to have kept their lecture notes). He distinguished between langage (the total complex), langue (language as a system), and parole (language as realisation); unhappily, in the published form of his work (for which he was not responsible) the distinction is not absolutely clear and consistent, and the attempts to anglicise his terms have not been altogether successful. His fundamental conception of language as an articulated system of signs is probably what you'll be looking at. I hope this helps. And remember the old saying, 'I used to be a linguist but now I'm not Saussure!'

I don't like it down here, I want my mum