Sandra Morrell
/The Psychiatrist
Harry thought anybody who couldn't sort out his own problems but had to take them to a psychiatrist needed to have his head examined. His friend Oliver said that was the same thing, to which Harry replied it was all a lot of half-baked propaganda put about by blokes who had to make a living at it.
And then he met SANDRA MORRELL at a garden party, where there were lots of homemade cakes on view and a lot of home-made wine-tasting going on. Harry had tested them all by the time he bumped into Sandra, who was there in her official capacity as the garden party beauty queen or something equally exotic and ravishing.
Harry almost fell down. What a doll, he thought. He took her hand and pressed unsolicited kisses on it. Then he looked into her eyes and murmured, "Come and try my cherry tart, I made it myself." "Pardon me," said Sandra," but I never eat cherry tart with men who've had too much elderberry wine."
Harry was distraught. He went to see a psychiatrist next day to try and find out why elderberry wine made him so unattractive to women.
And after six visits, all at ten guineas a time, the psychiatrist told him it was because too much elderberry wine made him lurch sideways.