She said she felt safe with me after the years with her wild and crazy ex-boyfriends, Bob and Paul. She thought I was strong and dependable. She’s not very bright, and she believed me when I told her the world’s a dangerous place. So she let me do all her thinking for her. She hasn’t always been happy about the things we do, but she knows that I know best. (I just love it when she calls me daddy.) When some foreigners tried to move into our street I got up in the middle of the night and I overturned all the wheelie-bins, and I told everyone I’d seen the foreigners do it. Then the whole neighbourhood accused them of being filthy litterbugs, and we got the police to lock them up. My girlfriend thought I was really brave and decisive, and she didn’t even mind when the feral kid next door told her it was me that tipped the bins over.

I’ve always pretended I was good at managing the money too, although between you and me I’m glad she doesn’t look very closely at the bank statement.

Being a bit dense, she’s prone to fall in with the wrong crowd. She used to have this dreadful red-haired friend who never shut up. Not that the ideas were so bad – I pinched a few of them myself to use at home. And she flirts with the ferals, the dirty wretches. But that’s alright. I know she has to come home to me when the party’s over.

But lately I think she finds me boring. She laughs at my friends, especially Little Lord Fauntleroy. When I brought the boss home for dinner she yawned all evening. She thought he was a spoilt brat and she was a bit rude about his cowboy boots and ten gallon hat.

What’s really worrying me is the new butcher at our shopping centre. He’s my competition. He’s a more avant-gard style of butcher – you know, gourmet sausages and coriander chilli chicken. No substance of course, all show. But I’ve seen the way she looks at him. And they talk. Every day she’s repeating some hare-brained idea of his. She says he’s young and fresh and energetic. She says he listens to her. She says he has more hair than me. Frankly Myra, I’m afraid he’ll steal her away from me. What can I do? I’ll admit I’m no spring chicken (64 last birthday). But I’m healthy and sprightly and I give myself a work-out on talkback radio three mornings a week. How can I keep my girl?

John

Kirribilli

Dear John

It’s sounds as if your relationship’s heading for the rocks. Don’t panic. Get strategic. Invent a really scary threat from which only you can protect your girlfriend. And make the other guy look cowardly about the threat. Women hate cowards. And remember, anything he can do, you can do too. Dust off your sausage machine and whip up some rosemary and garlic snags. If he stuffs a steak with a mongoose, you do it too. And get Tony to dig up some dirt about him involving sex, money and a rooster.

Yours truly

Myra