My Welsh correspondent has spotted something amiss:
Dear Miss Fifa, she writes, I always thought you were one of those Parisite fanny dancers in the Follies Bergeracs, so, imagine my surprise when I saw you on the telly last night. I don't know whether you are aware of it, dear, but you are a man, and a fat one at that. With enormous spectacles, it seems. Goodness knows what you look like when you are in your frou-frous and fishnets, but if I were you, I'd think of getting a different job. School dinner lady or a Lollipop Person might suit, as long as you keep your skirt down below your knees.
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, retd, normal.