Your Problems Solved, With Holly Harper

Dear Holly,
It’s coming up to the annual festive
charity bake-off at my church, and, as usual, the competition
is incredibly tough. Thankfully, this year the three-times champion,
Judy Butters is laid up in bed with burst piles, and so I finally
have a chance to grab the top spot with my choco-banana muffins. The
only problem is that Hilda Corkington is also gunning for the trophy,
and she’s already the reverend’s favourite thanks to her constant
brown-nosing, so she might well pip me to the post. I was thinking of
scuppering the bitch’s chances by swapping her sugar for salt, or
tampering with her oven so it burns her cakes and possibly also
gives her face a nasty scald. I know I am dreadful, but I really want
to win the Daniel O’Donnell tickets. Whatever am I to do?

Dear Felicity
It seems you may be anxious that Santa
might put you on his naughty list this year, but I shouldn’t worry
too much. If you think about it properly, how can Santa actually know
you’ve been bad unless some vindictive sneak reports you to him? It’s
not as if he’s God and can see into the future or anything: that’s a
totally different religion. My granny told me that naughty girls get
coal for Christmas, and I believed her, until the year that Sharon
Eccles got a dolls house AND a bike for Christmas, even though she
cut Cindy Webster’s ponytail off during science class to make into a
voodoo doll. Ever since then, I’ve been naughty absolutely loads of
times, and yet my stocking is always brimming with treats come
Christmas day. So you might as well carry on being an awful cheating
swine if that’s what makes you happy, although make sure your granny
doesn’t catch you, because you can guarantee that incontinent old bag
will grass you up in a heartbeat.
Hope that helps!