Farmers Weekly‘s agony uncle Farmer Frank is fast becoming an internet star.

He’s had a Facebook Appreciation Society set up about him, having become famous answering readers’ queries in his own inimitable, unhelpful and often rude way.

The group, which “shows support for – and celebrates – our dear friend Frank”, already has more than 70 members and is rapidly growing.

Frank has made his name dispensing homespun wisdom on all manner of country matters – whether it’s health issues, affairs of the heart, cash topics or more practical agricultural enquires.

He’s certainly ruffled a few feathers. After all, he’s not qualified, not experienced and, according to some, not all there. But many love his no-nonsense (well, not entirely nonsense) advice of this lovable old rogue.

Here are three examples of his responses:

Q: A neighbour was having such problems with people wandering on his land he blocked a footpath with a pile of manure. What’s your view on this?
A: Blocking a designated footpath with manure is an appalling thing to do. After all, walkers could simply step round a pile of manure. To be really effective, large agricultural implements should have been used.

Q: My wife is learning the piano and it’s driving me mad. She practises every night and I can’t sleep because of the sound of her tinkling on the keyboard.
A: My old dad once tinkled on the keyboard. There again, he once tinkled on the carpet, too. And the stairs. Bladder problems run in the family. Literally.

Q: I am going to France this summer but am worried about the food – will we have to eat snails?
A: It’s a misconception that the French eat lots of snails. That’s a simplistic and, dare I say it, xenophobic attitude. Everyone knows it’s songbirds the froggies eat.

We caught up with Farmer Frank in the snug bar of his local and asked him what he made of this new-found cyberspace fame. “I’ve never heard of this Face-whatsit,” he replied. “Are there any ladies on it who might like to meet me? I’m very good for my age – I’ve got all my own teeth. And a bungalow in Skegness. Any chance of a pint?”

FW ended up leaving Frank in the snug bar – apparently he was asked to leave later that evening after brandishing his Cumberland sausage at another diner.