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Emily Spurt Touches Down At The Candy Press

5 October 2012 by

Green DoorShe’s here! She’s dead posh! She’s cost us a ruddy fortune!  Our new Agony Aunt, Emily Spurt is gagging to solve all your sad, petty little problems right now; so what are you waiting for? Get in touch and let Emily ‘Spurt’ her pearls of wisdom all over you! Email askemily@iwcp.net

Emily writes…

Picture the scene, dear Candy Press reader: I am sitting in the impressive study of my beautiful, 18th Century Manor House, situated in the lovely village of Godshill on the Isle of Wight.  I am at my desk, where I have just completed the final draft of my soon-to-be-published memoirs. The sun is low in the sky now, teasing me with its presence.

Through the glass of my French doors, it’s golden, syrupy light, dances its way across the room, hindered only by the swaying branches of the old oak tree outside.  I glance across to my Grandfather Clock and I smile: it’s the smile of a woman who knows she still has time on her side. It’s nearly 7.30am and I know that by 7.45am, my Coccyx will be throbbing like a hammer-drill. Sometimes the pain is enough make one swoon: the only remedy is a large glass of ‘Johnnie Walkers Black Label Purely 100% Medicinal Blended Whiskey’.

By 8.14am, my naughty Coccyx had caused my mascara to run, snapped one of my heels and led to a silly argument over nothing with the bookcase. On the carpet, lies the remains of an organic Venison Kebab, three empty bottles of Claret and a very nice Community Support Officer called Terry.  At 8.17am, my Telephone rings and I do recall thinking that was odd for a Tuesday. Whatever, I resolved to get to my feet and find the phone, buried somewhere under the remains of my bookcase.

I found the phone on the floor as well, lying next to the final draft of my book “All Fur Coat and no Knickers: My double-life as an Isle of Wight Hooker and Parish Councillor”. When I answer the phone, my heart sinks, my jaw drops and my derriere empties its contents.  It’s the editor of that awful Candy Press and he’s making offers I’m too tired and emotional to refuse. He starts to mutter some incoherent babble and then barks like a dog: he’s Isle of Wight born-and-inbred, so it’s not unusual.  After ten minutes or so, his brain finally manages to download some data to his mouth…

We need you Emily! The websites gone all violet or virile or something… IT explained it to me, but it went way over my bleedin’ head! Anyway Spurty-Pants… fancy being our new agony aunt? Two Wightlink tickets and a few pints says you will!… should be a scream girl! Oh before I forget… that little favour you did for me the other night? You know, down the side of Sandown Library… Well I’ve got the money now love” He said, apparently through a mouthful of Burger and Chips.

“Well, what was a girl to do?  I said I’d just love to! So I grabbed my lappy-top, some clean knickers, booked an ambulance and was soon speeding towards Newport and the offices of The Candy Press.  I must say, I found my new office a bit of a let-down: far too small, stank of toilets and had a moth-eaten rug! Still, she’ll do for now as my Secretary.

Anyway, enough about me and my problems: this is all about helping you! Helping you to find happiness and fulfilment but without leaving the Island, never to return.

The Editor informed me earlier – whilst entertaining me at the local Weatherspoons – that I must ‘always be mindful that you’re dealing with the problems of vulnerable Candy Press readers, who, may well be in great distress’ and that ‘I should always treat them and their problems with the utmost respect and compassion’ After a brief pause, he burst out laughing and I knew he was only joking! Phew! I’ll drink to that!  So readers, bearing that in mind please, email me now with your problems. Come on, don’t be shy now; this could be the most important email you type, before Jeremy Kyle comes back on.

Email me at askemily@iwcp.net

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