(While one is pondering the situation, one must ask: Why is it that so many of one's readers assume that one is cursed with that affliction known to the common man as constipation? Almost daily one receives a missive consisting solely of the words 'Why are you so constipated?' Lest one give one's readers the wrong idea, let one hasten to assure them that one is not, indeed, affected by this malady. One simply never goes.)

While perusing the usual assortment of fawning good wishes this morning, however, one ran across a note that read:

Dear Sir Charles,
I hope you remembered to set your clocks ahead for Daylight Savings Time! It would be a pity if you missed your polo match, mud bath, money counting, etc.
Sue

A deep thought occurred to one, whilst reading. One is hardly a stranger to deep thoughts. Did not one stun Parliament into silence with the deep yet simple suggestion that the solution to world poverty would be merely to rid the world of the poor? (One did not mean, as one's detractors later claimed, a policy of genocide. So unseemly. One merely insists that the scheme could be workable though what many corporations term attrition. As the poor die from malnutrition and polyester poisoning and what have you, we simply don't replace them. As the French say, voila! Within a generation, no more poor!)

At any rate, one wondered. For what exact purpose are Sue and her all her colonial cousins saving their time? The emphasis on speed and efficiency these days simply shocks one. Meals are marketed as time-saving; the cramped and noisy supersonic jet has replaced the leisurely luxury liner as the trans-Atlantic mode of transportation of choice. Our clothing sacrifices style and comfort for speed of cleaning, even as we abandon elegant buttons and ties for Velcro. Everything is faster, speedier. But to what purpose? So that Sue and her family may spend an extra hour basking in the florescent glow of the lightbulb watching a sitcom rerun of everyone's favourite comic imp, Urkel--while outside the last rays of the waning sun linger regretfully upon the verdant landscape?

One thus suggests the following rule. The Grandiose Rule of Time Saving, as it were: If one's readers save time through some modern convenience, one encourages them to redeem it in a meaningful way. Else all those savings will accrue to no avail, lost forever in a vault unseen by no mortal eye.

With yet another deep thought for the week, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

---

Tom writes:

Dear Sir Charles,

My neighbours indulge in the exercise of their Connubial Bliss, if you know what I mean, with their windows unshaded and unshuttered. They don't even seem to know the meaning of the word 'curtains.'

Unseemly as I find the activity of spying, I find that I cannot tear my eyes away, and I find myself peering over the sill at the prurient activities taking place but a few feet beyond. I've even been late to work because of it. What shall I do?

Peeping Tom

Sir Charles replies:

My dear fellow,

It is indeed unseemly to spend long hours crouched by the window hoping to glimpse a tender caress, or a flash of thigh. Unseemly, unmannerly, and thoroughly not recommended.

After all, why else would have Our Creator created the motion-sensitive auto-on infrared video tape recorder with optical zoom and auto-stop fast forward replay capabilities and anti-fog display screen? At the electronics store tell them 'Chuck Grand' sent you, and they'll give you a slight discount, my boy.

With the best of wishes, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

---

Mrs. Collins writes:

Dear Sir Charles:

My husband is a rector under the patronage of a very wealthy dame. As he has provided me with a charming home, reasonable income and the prospects of inheritance down the road, I have learned to live with his inane chatter, his supercilious manner and his uncomfortably clammy embrace.

However, his patroness insists on having us over for dinner at least twice a week, where not only does she exercise her tremendous powers of condescension, but inspires my obsequious husband to greater and greater heights of fawning servility.

Do you have any helpful hints on how I could tell this battle-ax off, or get my husband to be less of a kiss-ass?

Sincerely,
Mrs. William Collins

Sir Charles replies:

Madame,

One must commend your husband's patron. Condescension is supposed to inspire fawning servility, or at least a manipulatable resentfulness.

As for your domestic problems, one could hardly give a hoot. The Lady Felicia, leaning gently over one's shoulder to read, informs one that a woman can learn very well how to cope with inane chatter, supercilious manners, and clammy embraces, and that she should know.

If it was ceaseless laughter and giddy fun you were searching for, you ought to have considered a holiday outing to the fun fair at Skegness, and not marriage.

With the utmost clammy sincerity, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose

---

Marty writes:

Dear Sir Charles,

I started seeing a girl a couple of weeks ago who's a real hottie, a total babe, but a friend of mine who used to see her said she's a real ball-buster.

Should I listen to him, or find out for myself?

Thanks,
Marty

Sir Charles replies:

Dear Martin,

A ball-buster, eh? The future does not look bright, my boy. You may wish to seek greener pastures.

At the very least, keep the girl away from cricket matches, football games, billiard tables, and Christmas trees. It could get messy.

Keeping one's fingers crossed, one remains,
Sir Charles Grandiose