Written by RSVP

Thursday, 21 June 2007

12 June 2007

John Prescott
Office of the Deputy Prime Minister
26 Whitehall

Dear Sir

I have yet to receive a reply from my letter dated 30 January 2007. You may recall I was enquiring about the possibility of developing my property which lies several hundred meters above sea level. Any moron with a bit of common sense would tell you that it will never be flooded. Not even if the entire North Pole melts.

You do not strike me (no pun intended) as someone who would ignore me simply because I am a taxpayer. Imagine if I ignored Gordon Brown, just because he is the Chancellor? Or indeed, just because he is Scottish? Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs would be upon me in a flash. That is if they could get past my highly trained and savage Brazilian cattle dog first.

Well, Sir, I suppose I shall never get an answer out of you regarding this enquiry, as that may mean you admitting that this farce of extortionate blanket flood risk assessments is ill-thought and blatantly wrong. Getting any politician to answer a question, let alone admit mistake, would be a miracle akin to a man from Galilee walking on water.

But I digress. I write to you in desperation as my wife is withholding conjugal rights until I find out what sort of medication you were on when you enjoyed a risqué liaison with your diary secretary Tracey Temple. I am referring to the delightful re-run I watched last night called Confessions of a Diary Secretary.

Bella is convinced that a man of your maturity and stature must be on something to have managed running your office simultaneously with performing unspeakable acts to a woman young enough to be your daughter. I am still a young and fit man who plays rugby and cricket and I, I am ashamed to say, have half of your energy levels.

You Sir are now my hero: a modern day Don Juan and I am pleading for your secret. Please do tell - I fear the days of passionate lovemaking with my Bella will be over if I cannot get this recipe of amour.

Your secret, rest assured, will be safe with me!

Yours truly

R S V Peters

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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