Where to turn in times of trouble? Madam Council Worker. The first thing that strikes you upon entering her abode is the startling range of off-beat bohemian ornaments and ornately framed mirrors. Soon you begin to detect the subtle but claustrophobic aroma of incense, which hangs in the air like death. None of this, however, could prepare you for the sight of Madam Council Worker herself. Clad in elaborate brass beads and platinum bracelets, she resembles a watermelon emerging from a wedding cake. Layer upon layer of colourful fabric was wrapped around her body, with the only visible flesh being that of her bony wrists and creviced face, to remind you that you are in fact staring at a human being.

It was many a problem that had led me to her door. Far too many to go into here. Suffice to say, I was up a creek and in a spot. I tried all the usual solutions: reasoning, denial and alcohol, but none of them improved my situation. Madam Council Worker was my last and only hope.

I first heard of her from a friend of mine, who, after suffering years of alcohol, drug and physical abuse, turned up one day looking positively radiant. When I asked what brought about this amazing transformation, she simply smiled and replied: "Madam Council Worker".

"O Madam Council Worker, I have travelled great distances to reach you and seek your advice."
She gazed at me through thick lizard-like eyelids and nodded slowly to herself. I waited in obvious discomfort.

"Fuck off," she said finally, waving me out rudely with her bony wrists.

And I did.

Hugh and the Times