Dear Mrs Gaddafi, she writes, my goodness, what a mess you are in! I told you before that it would all end in tears if you didn't do something about that wayward hubby of yours. You mark my words, dear, you need to take a firm grip on a man or he'll just run amuck the first chance he gets. Let's face it, your Muammar (what kind of name is THAT?) isn't going to take a grip on himself, even if he did it a lot when he was a teenager and didn't know better.
I suppose you're all holed up in the desert now, getting sand in everything. You poor woman - get a hold of him and tell him to make a run for it, before he gets grabbed by the berbers. I believe Caracas is nice at this time of year, and no sand to speak of.
Yours truly, etc
Blodwen Trellis, Mrs, Widow, retd.