Some Girls Have All The Luck

There is a whole gang of us who hang around after school, which is fun except that there is one girl in our gang - Harriet - who is really pretty. She gets all the attention and everyone fancies her and flirts with her and she really plays up to it. We haven't been hanging around with these boys for long (we are all 13 and 14), and I have started to realise I'm never going to be all that pretty or attractive. I have begun not to enjoy myself, because it is obvious that the boys would rather be with Harriet than any of the rest of us.

Chloe, Reading.

AUNTIE AG: Chloe, every woman has her own aura and allure, which is far more powerful than mere looks. Don't worry about Harriet's aura and allure, which sounds rather up-front and vulgar to me, but concentrate on developing your own. All sorts of things can compete with a pretty face - gentleness, sexiness, wit, wiggle, figure, dress, the ability to listen or flirt without anyone but the flirtee noticing. Nature has many design flaws, but one of its pluses is that people don't all tend to fancy the same person. Practice your allure, angel, and I bet you'll find there's more than one of them panting to deliver far more than flirting.


Is it naff to wear sunglasses on your head or has the whole thing now gone beyond naff and become a sort of cheesy, self-reverential thing.

Melissa, Christchurch.

AUNTIE AG: I've no idea what you're talking about, darling. Either put them on your nose or in your handbag, or you'll end up losing them.


I live in a rough but trendy area. Every night at 5am a bunch of crack- heads emerge from their crack house and start shouting: "F***ing come down 'ere you c**t," over and over and throw bottles at each other. Because all the graphic designers and documentary makers who live around here think it's marvellous to live among the working classes, none of them complain, either to the crack-heads or the police. Instead, they practically run out on to the street offering them stilton and broccoli soup. There is no point in only me complaining because the police won't take any notice. What should I do?

Lucy, North London.

AUNTIE AG: Surely, there must be some people living there who can tell the difference between working classes and crack heads, darling. Members of the working class, for example. Why don't you start with them. Ask them to support your campaign to complain, then organise a "shut-up the crack-heads" meeting. Invite the chattering classes, who'll be delighted to meet the working classes, send a petition to the police and everyone will think you're marvellous. (Except for the crack-heads, so I'd watch it when you're coming home late at night).


There are some businesses behind my flat which all have burglar alarms. Every weekend, it seems, at least one of them goes off, the owner is away and it rings for the entire weekend. I've tried going in and complaining but they just roll their eyes and snigger.

Dorian, Highbury.

AUNTIE AG: Don't complain to them - complain to the council every time. Eventually, they'll get a nasty letter from the environmental health office threatening an enormous fine and suddenly the alarms won't go off any more.


I really fancy this bloke who lives round the corner from me. I often spot him watching me out of the window and he usually comes out and "bumps into" me when I'm going to the cafe. We've got into spending more and more time together, popping round to each other's houses and having lots of quite intense chats about sex and relationships, but he never makes a move. Do you think he just wants to be friends and doesn't fancy me?

Elaine, Chalk Farm.

AUNTIE AG: Oh, don't be absurd. Next time you're round his flat, just stand as close to him as you can, look up at him, and say you think you have something in your eye. That should do the trick.


Is there an age beyond which it is inappropriate for a woman to go round in a crop-top, showing her midriff?

AUNTIE AG: Yes darling, about 19.


My boyfriend's penis is far too large: almost like a salami, fax roll or other gigantic, cylindrical object. None of us is perfect, and I'd be prepared to turn a blind eye to the disadvantages of the enormous thing if it weren't for the fact that he is so pleased with himself about it. He constantly makes unsubtle innuendoes to his friends, asks me about the size of my ex-boyfriend's organ, and parades around with his own. I feel I am expected to be grateful for its presence and join in. What shall I do?

Karen, Birmingham.

AUNTIE AG: God, how frightful. I suppose you could have a little chat and say you'd prefer that the magnificent object wasn't mentioned, because it takes away from its grandeur and mystery, and you'd rather worship it in reverential silence, as if it were an Inca temple. But are you sure you want to go out with him, angel? He sounds a bit of a prat to me.