Hi,

I've got a weird problem and I don't know who to turn to. Nobody takes this seriously, but please do listen.

Wes Anderson (55m) will not leave my house. The esteemed auteur, famous for directing The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) and The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014), refuses to leave under any circumstance. For the last few months now, I've been lumped with him as he entertains his (once-)roving band of regulars at my expense. None of them pay a dime -- Bill Murray (69m), Anjelica Huston (64f), Owen Wilson (51f), Adrien Brody (47m), a clay stop-motion dog (age/gender indeterminate) etc... I am fast growing tired of their whimsical abandon. They keep having these eerily intense on-the-nose discussions about niche European literature.

At first it seemed amazing, who wouldn't like to spend time with one of America's foremost cinematic minds? Let it be known, the novelty of hosting him was soon outweighed by these numerous annoyances he perpetuates against my person. On day one, he set about rearranging everything in my home until the west-side of the house mirrored the east-side. Do you understand how dangerous it is to rewire light fittings without the proper qualifications? Wes didn't. I think his hands are now permanently scarred as a result of his urge to move the light switch in the kitchen ten inches leftwards.

I hope this finds you well, please do write back. I am going mad hearing time and time again how he plans to write the most nostalgic movie ever about a mysterious bank robbery in an unspecified time period.

Oh well... back to the grind of keeping him out of my old vinyls,

Sal