The Big O again


Dear Hillary,

I just don’t bother going out Hillary; I can’t afford to get ripped off either emotionally or financially. I come here for the health benefits of the hot sun and to escape the cold of an English winter. It’s ironic that my dream job was being a male escort; I love the ladies and getting paid to spend time in their company would be like having died and gone to heaven. Any female ‘Big O’ fans out there willing to check me out for a modest fee? I do a mean version of ‘Crying.’

Big O


Dear Big O,

I’ve been looking out for you as I pass by the bars in my wheelchair. Big shock of black hair, dark glasses singing ‘Crying’ in a falsetto. So far I’ve found three Stevie Wonders, two Elvises and a dog named Boo – but no Orbison. Try waving your pension card as that is bound to attract some of the older ladies in the dimly lit bars.