Easter is the season for fake reports that have deeper philosophical meaning. To be clear, Father, I’m referring to the Bunny.

Anyway, if they can sell hot-cross buns now, let me get into the spirit of Easter a month early, with my own fake agony aunt column.


Dear Aunty,

I own a Tesla. Why do I feel like I’m driving around 1938 Munich in an open-top Mercedes, humming Ich Liebe Dich?

Aunty: Please indicate your intentions to make a turn by using your indicator. Not by holding your right arm out at a 45 degree angle with the palm turned down.


More here.