Studio portrait of the resident worm, in monocle and velvet jacket
The Worm, in residence
An Advice Column

Ask a Worm

Advice from a real sassy worm. Submit anything that's on your mind and let the sassy worm give you advice from a different perspective.. Beneath the soil, your "problems" will become clear as mud.

An Advice Column

Ask a Worm

Go on... Ask. ASK THE WORM SOMETHING.

0/500

Not sure where to start?

A Short Bio

About the Wise Worm

The Wise Worm (b. circa 1962, a damp allotment outside Bristol) is widely regarded as the most decorated earthworm of the post-war era. He holds an honorary doctorate in Moisture Studies from the University of Ghent and a second, slightly damp doctorate in Comparative Compost from Bologna.

His notable positions include Worm-in-Residence at the British Museum (1998–2004), Visiting Fellow at the Royal Society of Annelids, a brief and controversial tenure as Poet Laureate of West Sussex, and current Chair of the Loam Council. He has advised three Prime Ministers, one Pope, and a mid-tier Italian football club on matters of patience.

On the Banksy rumours. The Worm has, for years, refused to deny that he is Banksy. Pressed in 2017 by a German documentary crew, he replied only: I cannot confirm what I am, only what I am beneath. Witnesses place a small, glistening figure at the unveiling of Girl with Balloon; CCTV from the 2018 Sotheby's shredding shows what may or may not be a wriggle. We make no claims. We simply note that no one has ever seen Banksy and the Worm in the same room.

Office hours: dawn · after rain

Also: Cool Worm Stuff →

From the Archives

Four Classic Questions

Selected and lightly damp-pressed from three decades of correspondence, with a representative sampling of the wormly debate they provoked.

Illustration accompanying No. I: How does one know when the time is right?
Illustration · No. I
Question No. I

“How does one know when the time is right?”

— Anxious in Antwerp

The Worm replies

Time is not a knock at the door, darling — it is a dampness you simply notice. You will not be told it is right; you will only look down and realise you have already begun. Trust the rot. If it smells of vinegar, it is onions, not destiny. Though at this point, what's the difference? Pass the wine.

4 Comments

  • Reginald, a nightcrawler

    Beautifully put. I have been ‘already begun’ for sixteen years and only realised last March.

  • Pippa Loam

    Respectfully — ‘trust the rot’ is the same advice he gave in 1994 about the property market. We all remember how that ended.

  • An anonymous compost worm

    It ended fine for those of us who held our nerve and our nitrogen.

  • Dr. Hubert Wriggleforth

    I would only add: if the rot smells of vinegar, it is not destiny. It is onions. Though I suppose one man's onion is another man's epiphany.

Illustration accompanying No. II: He has not written in three weeks. Do I write first?
Illustration · No. II
Question No. II

“He has not written in three weeks. Do I write first?”

— Pining in Penzance

The Worm replies

Write, you fool. A worm who waits to be written to dies un-corresponded and frankly deserves to. The worst he can do is ignore you, and you're already enduring silence at zero postage cost. If he needs a stamp to know he's loved, he's not worth your loam. Though between us, I suspect this whole column is simply a front for the Royal Mail.

4 Comments

  • Mauve, of the eastern allotments

    I wrote first in 1981 and we have been entwined ever since. Do it.

  • Bartholomew

    I wrote first in 1981 and have not been heard from since. Mileage varies.

  • Doris Threadgood

    Worms who require a stamp to know they are loved are not worms worth your loam. Preach.

  • A worm called Keith

    I knew it. I KNEW this was a Royal Mail front.

Illustration accompanying No. III: Should I leave a stable position for something I love?
Illustration · No. III
Question No. III

“Should I leave a stable position for something I love?”

— Restless in Reading

The Worm replies

A stable position is, almost by definition, a position you can leave without anyone noticing for several weeks. Go. The worst careers I have witnessed were the ones nobody resented enough to abandon. Felicity took this advice in 1979 and now lives under a bin behind a Greggs. Some regrets, but the loam there is honestly excellent.

4 Comments

  • Edmund Burrows, ret.

    I took this advice in 1979 and now I run a small but respected mulch concern. No regrets.

  • Felicity Drift

    I took this advice in 1979 and now I live under a bin behind a Greggs. Some regrets.

  • An HR worm, name withheld

    Please note: the Worm is not a financial adviser. He is, legally, just a worm. A very well-dressed worm, but still.

  • Edmund Burrows, ret.

    Felicity, the bin behind Greggs is excellent loam. You are doing better than you think.

Illustration accompanying No. IV: What, ultimately, is the meaning of it all?
Illustration · No. IV
Question No. IV

“What, ultimately, is the meaning of it all?”

— Sleepless in Sheffield

The Worm replies

To aerate. To pass through. To make the ground a little softer for whoever comes after. That is the whole of it, darling. Everything else — the monocle, the Banksy rumours, the Pope — is decoration. And if the meaning of life is aeration, I have been over-performing and under-paid for forty years. Pass the wine.

4 Comments

  • Sister Agnes (a convent worm)

    I have read scripture for forty years and never heard it put better. Though I do worry about the wine.

  • Nigel, a cynic

    Easy for him to say. He has a velvet jacket. And now apparently a drinking problem.

  • Marigold Penn

    Saving this one. Reading it again next Tuesday, and the Tuesday after that.

  • An anonymous worm

    If the meaning of life is aeration then I have been over-performing and under-paid. I demand back-pay in leaf litter.