Mum

Jo Jo

Beckham

Sir Trevor Nunn

Gordon Brown PM

Dear Mum,

Is it really three weeks? It has gone by in a flash.  I’m pleased to hear that you have stopped smoking.  I have collected up all the ashtrays (all 31 of them) and thrown them into the wheelie-bin so as to lessen the temptation when you get home. The reason I haven’t visited you is because I am still weak from the Sydney Flu.  Dr Ng was called to my bedside four times, twice in the middle of the night.  You should count yourself lucky that you were given a hospital bed, even though it was 60 miles away.

I intended to send you a bouquet of flowers but, quite honestly, I was horrified at the prices they were asking.  The minimum charge for a bouquet is £15! Then there is a delivery charge of £2.50.  It is sheer exploitation.  I concede that I could have sent you a get-well card, but a trip to the shops is out of the question until I regain the strength in my legs.  Your husband, Ivan, has kept me informed about your progress.  You have been in my thoughts and I am hurt and annoyed to be charged with neglecting you.

Your son,

Adrian.

Dear Jo-Jo,

I will cut immediately to the chase.  No, you cannot take William back to Nigeria with you.  He is extremely happy living in the small town of Ashby de la Zouch. The culture shock could kill him.  If, when he gets to the age of reason, he wants to ‘discover his roots’, I will help him to do so.  But he has told me that he wants to continue to attend Mrs Claricoates’ reception class, where he is excelling at colouring-in and computer studies. Besides, he has a school trip to Fylingdales Moor in Yorkshire, planned in February.

Incidentally, I am surprised at your choice of new husband.  William tells me that the man has never heard of Pokemon cards, and that he was unable to name the individual members of Steps. He sounds an unworldly man.

How could a sophisticated woman like you saddle yourself with such a dolt? I cannot but fear for the longevity of your marriage.  As you will recall (perhaps fondly), when we were man and wife, we used to talk in bed for hours about world and current affairs.

Anyway, Jo-Jo, I’m afraid you must return to Nigeria without William.

I remain, yours, as ever,

Adrian

David Beckham
c/o Manchester United Football Club
Old Trafford
Manchester M16

Dear David,

Please take a few moments to read this letter.  I am not an inane football fan requesting a signed photo.

I am writing a book about celebrity and how it ruins people’s lives.  I know what I am talking about.  I was a celebrity in the 1990s and had my own show on cable TV called Offally Good! Then the fame machine spat me out, as it will spit you out one day.

I would like to arrange an interview on a mutually convenient date. You would have to come here to Leicester because I work full-time. A Sunday afternoon would be good for me.

And please don’t take offence at what I’m about to say – perhaps you were away when grammar was taught at school – but you do not seem to know the very basics of grammatical sentence construction, i.e. last night on television you said, ‘I seen Victoria on a video when she were a Spice Girl an’, y’know, I like said to me mate, I fink I’ve just saw the gel I’m gonna marry.’

The sentence should read: I SAW Victoria on a video when she was a Spice Girl, and I said to my mate, I think I’ve just SEEN the girl I’m going to marry.

Please contact me at the above address.  I’m afraid I cannot offer a fee or expenses, but you will of course receive a free copy of the book (working title: Celebrity and Madness).

I remain, sir,

Your most humble and obedient servant,

A. Mole

Dear Sir Trevor Nunn

Your name has been passed to me by Angela Hacker, the author and playwright, who is a neighbour of mine.  I have written a play, Plague!, set in the medieval countryside; it is an elegiac piece and features sixty human actors and quite a few animals, mostly domestic.

Angela thought you might be able to give me a few tips on handling such a large cast.

As you cannot fail to see, I have enclosed Plague! for your perusal.  If you would like to get involved, please let me know as soon as possible.

I remain, sir,

A. A. Mole

Dear Mr Brown

I wonder if you’ve had time to glance at my letter of 3rd June 2007.

I realize that you are busy trying to decide whether or not the country should go to the polls, but just five minutes of your time would put my mind at rest.

Also, do you think it fair that persons such as myself, who live in converted pigsties, should pay the full council tax? After all, we are helping to preserve England’s farming heritage and surely deserve to be recompensed for our commitment to the days of yore.

Yours sincerely,

Adrian A. Mole

PS: By the way, I quite often phone my friend and accountant, Parvez.  He is an ardent Muslim and attends a mosque led by a loquacious imam.  However, Parvez poses no threat to the state.  Perhaps you would apprise the security forces of this fact. A.A.M.