Dear Katy, or should I call you Katya? In fact, you shouldn't hide behind an anglicised pseudonym, be proud of who you are. You're Katya. Say it. Say it loud. You've Katya... or maybe you're me!? Maybe this whole thing is something I do with a deep-rooted part of my subconscious, unbeknown to my normal self. Are you me? Do I write these emails in the middle of the night while I'm otherwise asleep? Eeek. In that case, I'll just say "Dear Me", and I mean that in every sense.

I'm glad to hear you're sporty and intelligent. When I first read that I thought it said you were spotty and intelligent. I know that pain. Sometimes the geek gene gives intellect, but doesn't have space to offer clear skin. In your case, you've got the brains, but you're using them to move yourself around a sports field. This might make you a nasty joke, the scourge of the geek, but you're also kind, honest and interesting (modest too, perhaps?). I have no doubt that you're communicative, given the unsolicited nature of your email. To say you're easy-going and open-minded and then emphasise your number of friends and how they thing you're decent and devoted and understanding and interesting... well, I think it disproves the easy-going thing. You seem a bit intense.

What the hell's an interlocutor? It sounds scary. Does it involve rubber hoses and electrodes? Then you're mysterious on top of it? Do I look like Peter Andre? You're starting to scare me. You claim to be a hopeless romantic, but your technique suggests you're more of a ruthless interrogator.

Anyway, backing to the reality (backing to the life), I don't give too hoots where you get rid of your dreams or not. I'm not a person who can respect and think much of you - you've made me frightened. As for understanding you. No chance. I've no idea what you're on about.

I hope you find love, or at least help... and if you're me in a nightdress and a state of fugue, then I hope we both get help.

All the best

Ashley