A one-off letters page in which our very own Elliott solves the problems of the stars.
Dear Elliott,
I can't help it, but I always seem to finish prematurely. Three or four minutes is
all I seem to manage. I'm desperate. Please help me.
Justine Frischmann.
- Now your animal's gone?
Dear Elliott,
I think I'm becoming a necrophiliac. All I seem to do is flirt with the dead. You
have to tell me what to do.
Dave Grohl.
- I don't owe you anything.
Dear Elliott,
I killed someone. I actually killed someone. This isn't a joke. What should I do?
Nick Cave.
- Confide In Me.
Dear Elliott,
The knives are in the kitchen. You know what to do.
Tim Collins.
- Torch the place. The police will never know.