We all grew up with advice columns. And by "we", I mean women now aged between about 45 and 60, hanging out each month for our Dolly magazine to arrive at the newsagent in the hope that the question we hand-wrote and posted off in an envelope had made it to the desk of Dolly Doctor.

Such columns have been a staple of publishing since the 1600s; in the 1700s, Robinson Crusoe author Daniel Defoe received 40-50 letters a week to the Scandalous Club section of his A Review of the Affairs in France; even Benjamin Franklin was answering questions in the New England Courant.

And then, of course, there's Dorothy Dix, Dear Abby and Ann Landers, whose columns have been syndicated around the world for decades.

Closer to home, I've always been a fan of Danny Katz's Modern Guru in Good Weekend magazine. One of his latest questions was a cracker - so fit for 2020: Is it okay to smoke a cigarette during a Zoom meeting when I am sitting at my desk in my home office? His answer: All the things you wouldn't do in a regular meeting, you shouldn't do in a Zoom meeting. That includes smoking, yawning, texting, napping, farting, belching, cursing, boozing, perving, chewing gum, picking noses and nudity, unless it's discreetly hidden below your desk.

Another favourite is Jimmy The Bartender, who appears in Men's Health magazine (I only read it for the articles I promise). Jimmy dishes out no-nonsense advice about "women, work and other stuff that screws up men's lives": Should I tell my wife about a flirty coworker? Your kid found your weed, now what? Is it possible for a woman to have an orgasm and not make that much noise?

It's all got me to wondering about what kind of questions the dear people of Canberra would be asking. And why it is that we can ask a complete stranger, although one we feel as though we know, the most intimate of things.

What would my friends think of me if they knew I voted for the Liberal Party?

How can I tell my old Marist school friends I'd prefer a Raiders membership to a Brumbies one?

I've got a crush on a guy in my office but he's only an ASO5 and I'm an acting EL1, what should I do?

Is it sad that I swipe left on women who live on the other side of the lake when I'm on Tinder?

How can I stop a development in my street, as I'm worried that it might increase my rates bill?

The other night, I asked a homeless woman at Dickson if she wanted some shampoo and tampons etc, but she asked me for coffee pods - should I have bought her some? (This last one actually happened to me. So Canberra. But what should I have done?)

I wonder, too, if I'm actually in any position to offer sage advice to anyone? I am sometimes that person someone from my circle of friends comes to when they have a need for advice. There's a portion of that circle that's a good 10 years younger, and perhaps by virtue of my extra years and experience, they feel as though I might have something to offer. Sometimes I do. Sometimes they don't particularly like what I have to say.

I know, from my own experience, that sometimes that's the best advice you can get: the advice you don't want to hear. That cold, hard slap in the face that brings you back to reality. You can ignore it, but then I can guarantee you it will fester in the back of your brain for all of eternity.

I think if ever I can convince management here that perhaps we should start running an advice column, that's the approach I would take: honest and raw but served with a dash of humour and empathy. What do you reckon? Can I sell it? Send me your questions. And why it is that we can ask a complete stranger the most intimate of things? All names will be changed.