Dear Uncle Norm, what's with you Kiwi whingers?

Malcolm Turnbull.
Malcolm Turnbull.
Life gets more difficult. My last column revealed Russian criminals have hacked the Agony Aunt website that my alter ego Uncle Norm runs for celebrities - and sold their VIP secrets to Wikileaks.

I'm now plagued by whingeing calls from A-listers, asking if their confidential letters have been pirated. I haven't the foggiest of course, so it's very trying. I want to keep my customer service levels up with the likes of Spark and Air NZ, but how many times must I listen to Taylor Swift bleating before I lose my rag?

I've already said the safest PR tactic is to make the gutter press redundant by giving Wit's End an exclusive. As you know, it is a high-minded column which never distorts, swears, or invents bloody fake news. And so:

Dear Uncle Norm.

We recently whacked New Zealand students with top prices for study at Aussie universities. Nobody here noticed (you're only Kiwis), but our man in Wellington reports angry locals are once again chanting that pathetic ''Anzac Mates'' mantra. We are trying to save money, and uni eats up cash. Any ideas? - Malcolm Turnbull.

Dear Malcolm,

What a pickle! Look, just once, use your loaf and copy the better New Zealand system. We solved the cost of foreign students long ago by inventing a better examination model. Overseas youngsters are now notified of all questions, and given the correct answers to cut and paste. This costs us little, and the new pass rate is a credit to all.

These students are wonderfully motivated. Take Dr Oman el Maktoum, a Saudi who recently completed his PhD in Shakespearean Studies. He passed with flying colours, but is this earnest young scholar basking in the glory of it? Not on your life! Dr Maktoum has already requested a seven-day visa so he can come back and learn English.

Dear Uncle Norm,

Whenever I turn up for meetings, people start whispering about ''the elephant in the room''. I look around me, and see nothing but owlish faces, many of them smirking. I am a Minister of the Crown. Am I missing something? - Gerry Brownlee.

Dear Gerry,

Your paranoia seems justified. However you need to be big about this.

Dear Uncle Norm,

For the last 50 years tribes of women have thrown me their unmentionables whenever I perform. While I find these rarely fit, I hate to throw out perfectly good lingerie. I'm now paying for my 63rd unit at Cardiff Self Storage, and the cost is crippling. Any thoughts? - Sir Tom Jones.

Dear Sir Tom,

Your thrift is commendable. We have a Cardrona farmer who offers a bra fence that runs the length of his front paddock - he may be interested in stringing an extra wire. Or perhaps there's some new LBGTQ charity shop which is only interested in the bottom half?

Dear Uncle Norm,

Having finished with the Presidency, I'm being offered speaking gigs. My agent says I should charge $800,000 a pop. From your experience, is this about right? - Barack Obama.

Dear Barack,

This is interesting. Last time I did a Rotary Club, the emolument was a bottle of pinot and a chicken dinner. Is it possible to arrange me a meeting with your bloke? (Regards to Michelle).

Dear Uncle Norm,

Here at Wikileaks I'm perusing your very entertaining downloads. But nowhere can I find the Pamela Anderson letter I sent. It's delightful being stalked by a Baywatch Babe, but she doesn't fit my public profile. I'd like to keep her under my hat - is my secret still safe with you? - Julian Assange.

Dear Julian,

You and Pamela? Who'd have thought? Look Julian, it's high time you behaved like a normal bloke. Go to your front door. (NOW!) Open it, then walk straight to your nearest pub. Once there, buy a pint, and tell everyone that, nerd or not, it's you that Pamela Anderson longs for.

PS. (5 minutes later) Whoops, sorry mate. I'm just informed you're holed up in some Banana Republic embassy, and the pub visit may be out of the question. But here's the deal. I'll find your missing Pamela letter, if you can hunt down another of mine. The Archbishop of York is being unreasonable.

-John Lapsley is an Arrowtown writer.


Dear counsellor to nephews,

Ettamogah pub here. Our country is awful now. Tribes are removed from their homes, and kangas say 'You want a go, Mate, do you?'

Should we cross the Tas?

Bacca Bourke