Boltvault physician Dr Julian Quimm  is once again on hand to solve all your medical mysteries; this time Snare Drum Syndrome.

Dear Doctor Quimm,

I wish to remain anonymous but can disclose my name rhymes with Hen.

I have this problem… ever since I can remember I have been likened to a ginger mincing midget from an 80’s pop band who can reach notes only those missing testicles can. The identity of this dancing dandy will become apparent when I mention that Ian Hislop from Have I Got News for You has also been likened to him. It is of course Jimmy Somerville.

Now I do have ginger hair and am breast height to most teenagers but I feel the similarity ends there. I have to admit that when I dance I do keep my elbows tucked in to my sides with my hands up in the air but that is just for space saving reasons. I certainly don’t sound like him. Although my sister’s new child did throw a toy car at me once which bounced off of my then ingrowing toenail. This prompted me to shriek “ahhhhhhh baby” in an extremely high tone. Instantly I realised what I had done and never uttered those words again.

I some times get the unbearable feeling that I am slowly but surely turning in to Mr Somerville.

Please Dr Quimm… don’t leave me this way!

Dr Quimm says:
Dear ‘Rhymes with Hen’,

You are cattle-trucked my boy. First off you’re ginger which means without doubt that you smell of piss. By definition this will only make you attractive to old people who also reek of the stuff or birds with no sense of smell.

Secondly, your dance stance concerns me and it may be you are suffering from Snare Drum Syndrome. This occurs when the patient is nervous about their looks or their (lack of) dancing prowess. They become so worried that due to the possibility of coughing in their rompers, that their arse panels pucker up so tight you couldn’t fit a fag paper between them. The result of the puckering is that the dance steps performed are minute tic-tac-toe shuffles which ironically make the dancer look even more of a twat.

By the sounds of it my friend, you are just one arse stab short of becoming the former lead singer of Bronski Beat. You’re life is over fella. You’re never going to get a bird (not one with a sense of smell or who can see anyway) but you could make some extra cash taking it up the chutney locker down at the Blue Oyster Bar.

Whatever you decide, keep the hell away from me!

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