Sir
I don't usually bother writing to anybody. But I just found a pen outside the bookies, and it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity.
L Piggot, Goodwood.
Sir
On these cookery programmes, what's all this stuff and nonsense about Rocket salad? They called it fucking dandelions when I was a kid. Rabbit food. Usually covered in diesel oil residue and dog piss. Somebody please tell Gordon Ramsay, there's fuck all appetising about that.
Nigel Lawson, Cirencester.
Sir
These letters pages - who's idea was that? I say it's been going for donkey's years, but my mate insists he started it. He'll be telling me he invented Marjorie Proops and the printed word next. Like Caxton and them monks. Lying bastard. It's his round next. That'll teach the smug sod.
Will S., Avon.
Sir
Can you please stop running letters pages? Nobody's interested in putting pen to paper, and certainly even less interested in the perpetual drivel your so called writers press on an unsuspecting public. We're NOT BOTHERED! Get that through your dumb stupid heads.
Taj Mahal, Calcutta.
Sir
Earlier this evening I went to a local alcoholic beverages outlet. Fair enough, I stumbled and fell over a couple of times and found myself at one point entangled with a German Shepherd dog and some woman on a mobility scooter with a horribly aggressive attitude. But when I went into the shop and was promptly sick on the corn chip display, they asked me if I was 'under the influence?'
When I replied that I was certainly under the influence of the England World Cup squad, they allowed me to purchase my three bottles of vodka and two dozen cans of industrial strength Russian lager. Then they helped peel me off the windscreen of a passing taxi which I had collided with, and ordered a kebab delivery to my home as I stumbled, staggered and generally wobbled about bouncing off walls and parked cars on my way home.
Thank heavens that common sense sometimes prevails.
England for the cup!
Nutty Norman, Manchester.
Sir
As a recent visitor, I think England needs to get off its World Cup high horse. England won't win it. They've got no chance. The finest team in the tournament are no longer in it because of a cheating bastard ex-Arsenal French/Barcelonin basketball dribbler. Bastard. Brazil are shite too. Argentina's strikers are both midgets - one with a weird neck. Not that I'm biased. I'm not. To be sure.
Michael O'Reilly, Donegal.
Sir
I wouldn't have bothered writing to your letters page again. Pointless really. But I found another pen outside the bookies and it seemed a shame to waste it.
L. Piggot, Goodwood.
Sir
And on these cookery TV shows, what's all this bollocks about 'caramelising' onions and 'sweating them off' ?
My mam used to just cook the fuckers and have done.
Nigel Lawson, Cirencester.
Sir
If Cheryl Cole keeps losing weight, Miley Cyrus keeps twatting on, and Kristen Stewart remains all sulky, I won't love them from a distance any more. I'll stick with Lindsay Lohan. She might be a bit of a piss-head and going downhill fast but I've got more chance of a Lindsay bap-flash than with any of the others. Go Lindsay!
R Polanski, Geneva.
Sir
I just don't get why Woody Allen has gone out of fashion? What did he do? Why does everybody seem to have it in for him? Is he paranoid or what?
W Allen, E96th Street.
Sir
Oh bollocks - I forgot what I was going to say. Shame really, because as I recall it had some deep relevance. But never mind...sometimes other people are just wiser.
JC - Nazareth.
Sir
You probably won't believe this, but I just found another pen outside the bookies. Fucked if I know what's going on but it seemed a shame to waste it.
L Piggot, Goodwood.
