Our untiring correspondent from the wastes of North Wales goes straight for the jugular as usual:
Dear Ann Robinson, she writes, I find your obsession with death very morbid, even though you already look like a cadaver, have you ever thought of changing your glasses and getting a proper hairstyle?
As my late husband, Mr Trellis, used to say: "We are alive until we are dead", though you might be the exception to that rule.
All I am saying is, for goodness' sake, girl, get off this death kick and make something of yourself. There must be some man somewhere who is desperate enough to fancy even you.
Failing that, get a hobby: take up crossstitch or flower arranging. I get by making bara brith for my friends, well, if I had any friends. As it is, I feed most of it to the sparrows, greedy little b...s!
Anyway, you are rich, so you can do it. Just get out of the cemetery, you'll be there soon enough anyway, probably the victim of a Weak Link's bullet, God forbid.
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, widow, retired.