Scurvy Clogdogdo

Everard Wright, Esq.
Beaumaris
Frinton-on-Sea

Sir David Cameroon
c/o Millbank Mansions
London

Dear Sir Cameroon

I admire the manner in which you've handled yourself recently. You've kept yourself stiff and English. Well done, Sir! If only more politicians could be restrained. Alas, generally, they're such Common People.

I have, however, a small bone to pick with you. I've been perusing your manifesto with a keen lawyer's eye. You strike me as a bookish man, whereas I know life practically. Hence this letter.

This policy of yours to reward Married Couples to the tune of £150 per annum is ill-conceived.

I, a confirmed bachelor (and not likely to assist with the conception of anything), echo Captain Otter's views on wedlock:

Wives are nasty, sluttish animals ... a scurvy clogdogdo, an unlucky thing, a very foresaid bear-whelp, without any good fashion or breeding, mala bestia!

(With the exception of the uxorious Moira Stewart, of whom I have had occasion to write to Points of View.)

Clearly, you've trained your own particular wife fairly well - although her no show without Punch attitude must be wearing.

Still, your personal desire to keep her in capes and snakeskin diaries is no justification for penalising the singular and individual in this Big Society* of ours.

Regards,

Everard Wright LLB (Hons)

* You are very right to continually emphasise the fact that Society is big and getting bigger all the time. I blame the Obesity Time Bomb.

Round Two

Dear Mr Murdoch

I expect you're ever so miffed that the whole king-maker role is not going as planned. I believe your son, James, lost his rag a bit and stormed into the Indy offices threatening to duff up old Kelner (who we all know is softer than a floury white bap).

Since that Mick Clogg chap - you know, the reasonable one - started being, well, so reasonable not to mention boasting about the size of his big one ("size does matter") your beloved Rabid Cameroon has been looking steadily more gammon pink. Is that his natural hue? I ask because I'm about to repaint the littlest room and I wonder if it comes in wipe-clean vinyl silk?

I have to say that I feel it was a faux pas on Cameroon's part to admit that he couldn't keep it up with that soldier this morning. And he was meant to be taking the floor brush to politics, not rollicking in the sewers! No wonder SamCam's taken to wearing capes.

So, with all your plans going to hell in a handcart, Rupert, I'm writing to offer my services. I've got some excellent policies planned and have written my manifesto which I am sure will capture the Public's imagination.

My main thrust is that the wearing of tails will be de rigeur. (Note how easily I can slip into Fr. which will make winning the hearts and minds of Europe a doddle.)

That homo sapiens (ditto Lat.) are doomed to exist without tails is a source of great personal distress to me. (And Mick Clogg's boasts about big ones do not fall into the category of tail ownership however reasonably he might claim this to be the case.)

We'd all be much more complete with tails - we'd have better equilibrium for starters, could signal good or bad moods and they would encourage a nice through breeze in the gaps in our trousers.

Of course, I wouldn't impose a particular type of tail. Citizens could mix and match their tails according to mood: a shimmering fan of peacock feathers for dressy occasions; the slender tail of a black cat if a little flirtatious; the wagliferous tail of a Golden Labrador going thump, thump, thump on the sofa when one was feeling happy.

I've listened to two debates now - hours of my life I will never get back - and neither Gorgon Brain, Rabid Cameroon nor Mick Clogg have suggested anything half as interesting or even a tenth as original as Universal Tail Ownership.

So, do we have a deal? Or will you be sending James round to have a quiet word?

M.

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Sir or Madam

I am taking a moment from my busy schedule of needlepoint, deportment classes, quadrille practice and conversational 17th Century French to firmly suggest that I have had enough disgruntlement in my life this year and therefore feel I am deserving of a Disgruntlement Pass for the rest of 2010.

I hardly think this is too much to ask.

Whilst I am making demands, I'd also like the word 'scum' to be added to the list of words due to be rehabilitated this decade. I know you are planning a public awareness campaign about the name Adolf. You say it has been the recipient of general opprobrium for over seventy years and if we are not going to drown in Jacks, Connors, Joes and Harrys, then we need to spread our nominal net a little wider.

Fine. There is nothing wrong with the name Agnes either, so rehabilitate her whilst you're at it.

But back to scum. Apparently, I cleverly - and regularly - achieve the status of both middle class and scum. I never put roquette on my open sandwiches (closed sandwiches are infra dig), nor do I have a 'Weekly', nor do I sponsor a one-legged seamstress in Papua New Guinea - and crow about it - so I fail to see how I am in any way middle class.

I am not well-bred enough for Upper Class. (Father was in Trade.) I haven't found a satisfactory term for the - hmm - little girls' room (twee!), lav (common!), washroom (I want a pee not a wash!), and I'm never sure whether I should say napkin or serviette. Though I do use proper cotton handkerchiefs. All things considered, perhaps we could focus less on class and more on scum ...?

I wish to reclaim the word scum. I want it redefining. In fact, I shall personally redefine it. For am I not fragrant? Do I not float like the lightest of thistledown, dancing in the gentlest of Zephyrs?

Well, I'll grant you a less thistledown-like woman you are unlikely to meet, but I am fragrant. I currently smell of Ginger & Nutmeg, an expensive cologne from a chic emporium with haughty saleswomen where I dithered and shilly-shallied about the purchase for months; spraying it on my wrists, wandering off through the cobbled streets of Deva Victrix, sniffing, getting other people - often strangers - to sniff me. How foolish I was to be so cautious! It is a daily delight to smell like a steamed pudding.

Scum is the scent of sticky, stodgy desserts. Scum is the throwing-caution-to-the-winds purchase of reckless (some might call it cavalier) sofas. Scum is the art of making men in uniform giggle unexpectedly. Scum is an unseemly devotion to ones virtual fish. Scum is not buying the spray paint (with which you plan to deface several unsightly political billboard posters) on your debit card in case the unique chemical identifier in the paint is traced to the store, CCTV cameras and, eventually (due to the pigeon chest and dragging left leg) to oneself.

Scum is - quite clearly - delicious. I am proud to be scum!

So, if you could put your considerable all into reclaiming it - phone grumpy old Rupert, Paul, Jeremy and Nick and get them onside - I foresee a happy and satisfactory resolution for us all.

Yours in anticipation,

M.

P.S. I enclose an S.A.E. (1st Class) for the prompt dispatch of the Disgruntlement Pass. Merci.

Star Mangled Banter

Chateau Marmont

Sunset Boulevard

Hollywood

United States of America

Hey there Miss Moptop!

I was gonna get my people to talk to your people but then I thought make the effort, DC, make the effort. The personal touch is always appreciated - right?

So, how about me and you comin' to an arrangement? Front row seats at my next premiere? We'll walk the whole 9 yards of red carpet arm-in-arm and go sushi after - on me!

Yours in anticipation,

Leonardo x

P.S. I hate to mention this - but what the hell - it'd be real nice if you could put the whole potato thing to bed.Call me!

Moptop

c/o Blogger

The Ether Somewhere (as No-one Really Knows How It Works, Not Even That Chap With The Beard Who Invented It).

Dear Mr di Crapio

I must decline your offer of front row seats at your next film. It's not that I don't appreciate your kindness, but watching you act your socks off on celluloid makes me want to murder some chips. (That's an English expression, but in this case the verb can be read literally.) As I am currently following a regime, chips would cost me at least fifteen chapters of Anna Karenina, my walking shoes are at the cobblers being resoled and - but are any more explanations needed?

It's not that I haven't tried, Mr di Crapio. I have, I have.

In This Boy's Life you showed promise - although potato-ish qualities were in evidence even at that early stage in your career. Spudeo and Juliet was - well - a roasting The Bard will never forget. Titanic, a total croque(tte). The Beach? Admittedly, you looked better sauted than pureed ...

Shall we just say you remind me of King Edward, and leave it at that?

Yours,

M.

P.S. I don't have people or even a person.

P.P.S. Go sushi - on you. Is that some weird Hollywood version of fish 'n' chips?

Chateau Marmont

Sunset Boulevard

Hollywood

Gee! Moptop!

You English are just the nicest people. Grandma always said we had royal blood, but for you to come straight out and say it! Wow! Just wow!

Call me! Call me! Call me!

Leo xxxx

Is she not fragrant?

Everard Wright, Esq.

Beaumaris

Frinton-on-Sea

Sir Terence Wogan

c/o Points of View

Broadcasting House

London

W1 5QT

Dear Sir Terence,

I would be extremely grateful if you could arrange for the experienced and fragrant newsreader, Miss Moira Stuart, to be returned to her post.

It is only a matter of time before we can expect to see our Proud Nation once again in mourning. Lady Margaret Thatcher - the Greatest Prime Minister this country has ever seen; Envy of the Kremlin; Scourge of Sue Lawley; The Cast Iron Fist That Plucked the Miners' Canary; Arch Enemy of General Gaultieri; Patron Saint of Handbags - will sooner rather than later - and, oh, how it pains me to commit this to paper, Sir Terry! - be shuffling off her mortal coil and joining the majority. (And the other members of her cabinet she saw off first.)

Each morning, Chester my Airedale Terrier Cross, fetches The Telegraph from the mat in the hall, and I, sitting by the thick-cut Seville, open that esteemed broadsheet with half-closed eyes, hardly daring to look ... (I've forsworn the television and wireless news lest they take me unawares.)

The only thing that can possibly make this grief-striken scenario even slightly bearable, is to be secure in the knowledge that the lovely Moira will be there to guide me - and the Nation, of course - through this future and inevitably tragic period of our lives.

Moira, as we all know, maintains a solemn and dignified demeanour - even now, when she is so sorely misused by your incompetent replacement on the bbc Radio 2 Breakfast Show. Only she can be trusted with the responsibility of announcing the passing of our dearest dear Iron Lady.

I have taken the liberty of enclosing one of my many photographs of Miss Stuart. She is on our screens so seldom these days, I fear you may forget her face.

Yours, in hopeful anticipation,

Everard Wright LLB (Hons).

Post scriptum: If you could arrange for Moira to adopt the fashionable stance of reading the news whilst perching pertly on her desk, it would be much appreciated.

Monstrous Wigs ~ 2

Farter Duck
Savage Crangle Chambers
Chancery Lane
London

Dear Ms Moptop

I have had occasion to write to you before on matters of a similar nature. Tappertit and Rudge, my Clerks of Chamber, limped down to the Stacks and dusted off our previous correspondence. And a fine, heavy file it makes. Not to put too fine a point on it, Madam, you appear to delight in causing mischief.

Only today, it was brought to my attention that you have published the confidential minutes of the Liberal-Fascist Collective Against the BBC (L-FCABBC).

Members of the Collective are extremely unhappy about this situation and have instructed me to - shall we say? - fire a warning shot across your bows.

I am sure that you will appreciate that being both Liberal and Fascist is a challenging position to be in, not least because of the dangers of inadvertantly slipping into Reactionary.

The members of the L-FCABBC face a difficult task; united in their desire to see the British Broadcasting Company (BBC) dismantled, the Television Licence Fee abolished as well as ensuring that optimum conditions are created for Cats Do The Funniest Things to be shown nightly on the major T.V. channels during peak viewing hours.

To then discover that you have published confidential minutes could have turned them Libertarian! Have you considered just how irresponsible you have been? You, Madam, do not have the excuse of youthful folly.

It simply will not do.

Take this as an informal - if not entirely friendly - warning. If you persist, further action will be taken by the L-FCABBC subcommittee: The Wirral Alliance of Televisual Sceptics.

Yours sincerely

Peter Farter Duck

It is best not to mess with the duck

P.S. Mr Wright, a fellow Fellow in Law, insists that I inform you that Points of View did reply to him and noted the contents of his email.

The All-Purpose Apology

Dear Mum / Partner / Lord High Admiral *

I apologise deeply / profoundly / 1000m below sea level *

For not noticing

- that my shoes were muddy

- that the remote control was on the coffee table exactly where you said it was

- a 433 ft underwater pinnacle made of rock.*

My failure in this matter caused a significant amount of damage to

- the cream shag-pile in the hall

- the 42" wide-screen TV which makes even the skinny weather girl look short and fat

- a Royal Navy nuclear submarine. *

In my defence, I had lost my

- door key

- temper

- Signals Communications Officer.*

If I promise to

- do the dishes for a week

- stop talking during Antiques Roadshow especially when the experts are revealing the valuations of hitherto unprepossessing objects

- stay on dry land*

will you forgive me?

Yours etc. etc.

* Delete as appropriate

Monstrous Wigs

Farter-Duck
Savage Crangle Chambers
Chancery Lane
London

Dear Ms Moptop

Your publication of the confidential Minutes of the NVKKK was brought to our attention. Whilst the appellative Klu Klux Klan may partially fit the description you provided, our clients, the real Ku Klux Klan, have never previously been accused of "non-violence".

You may wish to direct an inquiry to the diverse communities within the Southern States of The United States of America for confirmation of this fact.

The real KKK has been in existence for many years and has consistently engaged in acts of violence, intimidation and incitement towards racial hatred. They have never engaged in competitive napkin-folding, nor have considered reducing their robes and hoods to neatly hemmed squares, irregardless of whether pinking shears were available at Trade Prices.

My client also hotly disputes the inclusion of the extraneous letter L, which makes a mockery of their proud and noble name.

Our Client insists that you desist dissemination of these vile slurs forthwith.

Sir Peter Farter-Duck

"It is best not to mess with Farter-Duck"