In which we celebrate the return of hecklerspray's resident agony uncle Dennis Norden. Take it away, Denster…

Dear Dennis,

I sometimes wonder if there's any point in living. I mean – seriously, take a look at the world we inhabit. Disease, corruption, injustice, famine, heartbreak… the list goes on and on. How can anybody even get up in the morning when they suffer the innate knowledge that our planet is essentially a meaningless bauble, churning through space in a miasma of hellish nothingness?

My wife has suggested that I may be sick… that I should possibly see a doctor, or seek counselling. But I don't know. Sometimes it just seems more tempting to throw myself off a cliff, blissfully letting the pain soar out of me as I shatter on the jagged rocks below.

Can you help me? Please? Is there anything that you can say that could encourage me within my darkest hour?

Simon, Gloucester

Dennis replies:

Victoria Wood there, having a few problems with her piano – proof, if proof be needed, that even the most consummate professionals often have trouble with their toolbox! Now, just take a look at this howler from EastEnders, in which grand old lady of the square Dot Cotton discovers that – just when you think things are going well – there's nearly always a drink just waiting to be spilled!

Do you have any problems you'd like Dennis's advice on? You know where to send 'em…