Dear Mr. Pop Star
Dear Fiddler's Dram,
Even allowing for inflation and given from our research that you appear to originate from Whitstable and the surrounding areas, I find it difficult to comprehend how you were able to achieve your day trip to Bangor (a ten and a half hour 620 mile round trip, no less) have lunch on the way, a bottle of cider, chocolate ice cream, eels, a cup of tea each, the hire of a boat and a trip to the fun fair incorporating a ride on the ferris wheel all for under a pound ‘you know’. Even allowing for 1979 prices, under the circumstances we will require a full break down of costs and disbursements including receipts before your folk claim can be taken seriously, in order that we may then replicate this remarkably economical excursion, then duly smugly boast about our own savings on Trip Advisor.
Dear Hazell Dean,
I found your song on the internet whilst looking for how to get to friends in Hazeldene, Chieveley.
In these celebrity and appearance-obsessed times it is admirable that you are searchin' (looking for love) for a man who needn't be handsome or have fortune or fame.
I fear however that you may be setting your sights a bit low, Ms Dean. You appear, rather than ''looking for someone to share your life" with' on nights out with friends or on tentative dates, to be ''seekin' '' a long term partner either on the train, or, more worringly, as reinforced by your disclosure that you ''want no disguises'', a Police I.D. Parade, as you ''move on down the line''.
It is suspected that your judgement may have been impaired by ''never sleepin''' and that there is no guarantee that a stranger on the Underground, or for that matter, from the Underworld is likely to be ''sweet and kind'.'
''Whatever You Do, Wherever You Go'', Ms. Dean, I implore you to be cautious in your quest and not to explore ''every place you can''.
Dear Mr Philpott
Think not of “Searchin’” as a light-hearted missive, extolling the virtues of promiscuity.
No! This work should be considered a seminal piece – a late 20th Century celebration of the seeking of love above all else.
Looking for love
All the time I can.
Searchin'Looking for love I've got to find a man.”
This is not a transient pop song, but should be compared as contemporary to the popularist lyrics of Byron, Browning, Rossetti and Wilde.
Were these great romantics ever concerned by the trivialities of sleep sir? I think not.
As the great Oscar Wilde himself wrote:
"You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear."
Additionally, aspersions cast on my predilection for members of the criminal fraternity are most unwelcome and unfounded,and I would therefore be grateful if you could leave me to my insomnia and romantic musings in peace.
Further to this, over the past 35 years I have received 100’s of photographs of dull establishments bearing any vague semblance of my name, in its many variants. The highlights of which include a B&B in Blackpool, and cattery in Crewe and a hovel somewhere slightly South of Brighton.
Why people presume these will interest or even slightly amuse me, I do not know.
Would you enjoy receiving a steady and annually persistent selection of “Philpotts Avenue’s”, “Philpotts Crescents” and “The Philpott Home for the
Perpetually Ridiculous”? The novelty wears off very quickly I can assure you.
Quite frankly Mr Philpott the locating of your friends at Hazeldene, Chievely, is of absolutely no interest to me whatsoever.
Dear Mr. Floyd,
I am most impressed, if a little unnerved, to learn that you are aware that I dropped the immobilser to my Nissan Juke down a drain outside Sainsbury’s last week.
I do therefore have a brand new key but must sadly inform you that its only functions are to start the ignition, and to release the boot and petrol cap. I fear that it would be ineffectual when turned anticlockwise into a pair of shoes with wheels on, especially given that the only orifice available is likely to be the eyeholes which are most likely already to be filled with laces.
Upon this basis I feel that to get together and try them out, you see, would be futile.
Although I do not mind that you skated to my door at daylight I would appreciate it greatly if you would not encroach into the threshold. We have just had some parquet laid and would prefer it not to be tarnished by rubber skidmarks that we may retort ‘’Look what you’ve done to my floor, ma’’.
Dear Mr. Philpott,
You appear to think I have lace up boot skates. My skates go around the shoe or boot and you tighten them with the key. With that in mind it looks like I don't need your key after all. As far as your precious parquet floor is concerned, the wheels are metal - they wouldn't leave black skid marks, just little grooves, which could add character to stodgy parquet floors. I have been looking around a while, thought you had something for me. I guess I'll keep looking for someone with a brand NEW key.
Dear Mr. Ant,