Dear Mr Kershaw, page 14
‘Blow up the TV, blow up the car!’
Probable Outcome
The inflation of a novelty pool toy in the synthetically fashioned simulacrum of a vehicle or a television, or the digital enlargement of an image of said items utilising ‘software programmes’ such as Microsoft Paint are not autonomy imperilling. Actual entertainment system and saloon or hatchback detonation will equal ‘pokey’.
Proposed Caper
‘Sell all the magazines!’
Probable Outcome
Newsagent’s shop proprietary is actually a lucrative and admirable endeavour, allowing, as it does, the ensuing profits from the sale of one’s stock of current publications to be re-invested into the enterprise whilst concurrently enlightening and intellectually stimulating the general collective. If, however, you are contemplating periodical purloining, by way of the illicit removal of ‘glossies’ from, for example, a dentist’s waiting room or a registered vendor, such as Cazip Food and Wine on Charminster Road, please anticipate ‘bird’.
Proposed Caper
‘Turf out the cat!’
Probable Outcome
Although domestic pet eviction is not penalisable per se, if it can be proved in a court of law, perhaps in the course of prosecution by the RSPCA under Sections 2 and 4 of the Animal Welfare Act 2006, that your feline abandonment knowingly exposed the hapless creature to predators, leading to injury or worse, in extreme circumstances you could reasonably expect to be ‘taken down’.
Proposed Caper
‘Pull down the abattoirs!’
Probable Outcome
Although arguably viewed as a principled deed in many quarters, slaughterhouse demolition, unless sanctioned by the carnivore appeasing profiteer(s) could find you ‘in the slammer’.
Hopefully you will observe that, in the majority of instances, your celebratory shenanigans will ironically be consummated by that which you are exalting being removed. Given that you are obviously a very intelligent young lady, ‘it’s a mystery to me’ that this jarring paradox has not previously been considered.
If it is any small consolation, internment would at the very least insulate you from the peak-based electrostatic discharges of your ‘follow-up’.
We await your feedback.
Yours,
Derek Philpott (with help from Jean Philpott)
Dear Mr Philpott and your patient helper Jean Philpott (who I imagine looks somewhat like my old gym mistress Miss Boare),
I apologise for my ranting on the 1981 three minute diatribe called ‘I WANT TO BE FREE’, a rant against the educational regime I had already left behind 6 years previously, but I just had to get my feelings of imprisonment and brainwashing out of my system. Also I wanted to attempt the first ever rap in the middle 8.
I wholeheartedly agree that, even though I have dyed my hair for 40 years, ‘I still have a brain up there’ and, as you kindly mention in your second to last paragraph (‘Given that you are obviously a very intelligent young lady’), there are quite a few jarring paradoxes within this rambunctious adventure, but you have to take into consideration I hadn’t eaten any chocolate for three days in an effort to look super-dooper thin for TOP OF THE POPS and I was as ratty as hell and dead cert on wreaking revenge on all those who thought I was an ‘epic fail’ at school.
I would like to point out in my defense, for all my failings at being a rebel I have opened the cages of many a small animal to escape to freedom, freed many a fish from those type of restaurants that have fish tanks, helped many an old lady across the road and sent many anonymous letters to journalists who write for the Daily Mail, let down many tyres on Porsche cars and have shouted out of my car window at those boys and girls who let their booty hang out.
Please forgive me and thank you for your very complex and wordy letter that took me three hours to read.
Toyah Willcox
PS ‘I knew my Wife’s lyrics were subtle, but had not fully appreciated their depth.’ Robert Fripp
Dear The Killers, I am Derek Philpott. I hope that this disclosure avoids further self-inflicted spinal injury given that in one of your your records you disturbingly refer to breaking your back just to know my name
Dear Department S,
Re: Is Vic There?
'The night is young, the mood is mellow
And there’s music in my ears
Say, is Vic there?
I hear ringing in the air
So I answer the phone
A voice comes over clear
Say, is Vic there?’
You will no doubt recognise the above as the pivotal and, indeed, only lyrics to your splendid ‘new wave’ telephone enquiry.
I am sorry, Department S, but ‘Going Left Right’ in the scanning of said text, I do not really know where to start.
Whilst the time of day and ambience outlined are not subject to debate, the fact that there is music in your ears is a clear indication that your call has been placed on hold or that you are in an automated queueing system. Therefore, if you will forgive me, to enquire as to Victor(ia)’s whereabouts of a taped recording is somewhat futile.
To then make no reference to replacing the receiver and yet hearing and responding to the ringing of an incoming call from a person also attempting to locate the self same person is most perplexing.
We really do need to clear this up, chaps, and in the meantime, considering that all in proximity to the device are clearly visible when an invitation is accepted, thus rendering similar enquiries unnecessary, I would recommend Skype as a far more economical and effective distance communication method.
Yours,
Derek Philpott
Derek.
It’s the eternal quest for man’s longing to find his inner self exasperated by the trauma of the modern techno industrial age… are we not all searching for our own Vic? But alas, the author of the fine but frugally penned words in the aforementioned song is no longer with us to add testimony to what might be their deeper inner meanings.
So it is to those of us left behind on this mortal planet to add interpretation to the lyrics or at least help impart some understanding to those that might be grasping this particular preverbal, lyrical and somewhat shitty stick from the wrong end.
As you point out, the ambience as well as the planetary alignments appear to be without question but after a moment’s contemplation of this, or at least, upon watching one or two episodes of the most excellent TV programme The Sky at Night, you would soon realise that the relative positions of bodies in our solar system is forever changing. Consider it thus; we are moving through our solar system in an elliptical orbit around our nearest star (the Sun, not to be confused with your regular library reading of the daily newspaper with the same name) and our solar system is moving round the centre of our galaxy (the Milky Way, not to be confused with that deliciously tasting but albeit shrinking chocolate treat with the same name). The combined speed of around 483,000 miles per hour is breathtakingly rapid. Rather different to your meandering Sunday afternoon drives along the coast road from Bournemouth that you no doubt undertake with your dear wife Jean when the weather is clement. No wonder then there is ringing in the ears that could so easily be interpreted as ‘Ringing in the Air’. I would think a one eighth of an anti clockwise turn on your hearing aid volume control would rectify this particular problem for you.
The perplexing issue of hearing a call whilst answering another can be readily explained through a rudimentary understanding of modern telephony systems such as using modern VoiP systems that can be configured to integrate with core applications like the CRM, ERP or ATS thus becoming an integral part of a business technology system. Things have moved on somewhat since the days of sharing a party line with which you may be familiar.
But this is all conjecture in the author’s absence so sadly, we may never know the true meaning behind those frugal lyrics. It may well just as easy be that Vic was in fact just a nom de plume for Vaughn Toulouse himself and he may well have been talking to no one but himself in a particularly deranged moment. Either that or it may just be all made up Bollox.
Regards,
Department S
Dear Fuzzbox
Re: Pink Sunshine
Whilst watching the new Dr. Who earlier after hearing your Thunderbirds record at the hairdresser’s, Jean wondered whether you had named yourself after the T.A.R.D.I.S., or, to be more accurate, not the "Out Of This World" time machine itself but its perceived exterior. If so, she mused that equally catchy police colloquialism enclosure examples could have included 'Copper Kiosk', 'Bobby Booth', 'Rozzer Receptacle', 'Constable Cubby', 'Nick Nook', or 'Plod Pod'.
We have not long relocated back up to London, Fuzzbox, for your ''full information'', and only when packing for the removal van did it dawn on us just how much bric a brac we had accumulated in our old house. Rather than take it up the dump however we decided to put as much as we could on a popular online auction site and ''Wait And See'' if we could make a couple of pounds. I have just about got the hang of it of late. That said, after leaving ''positive feedback'' for a particularly well-packaged Winston Churchill Toby Jug received not too long ago, and ‘asked’ by Ebay where I ''would like to go next'', I did admittedly waste forty five minutes trying to find a ''The Eye Of The Tiger for a chicken dopiaza then Wetherspoons for a quick half of Sixpoint Bengali'' option to click on.
Unfortunately, although all of the unwanted items did successfully find eager buyers, I forgot to press that they were collection only. Therefore, acknowledging the non-negotiable ''Rules and Regulations'' and ''facing up to the fact'' that I had little option, rather than use a copious amount of bubblewrap, masking tape and parcel paper and still be ''Walking On Thin Ice'' in expecting them not to be damaged in transit, other than to issue a refund to all winning bidders.
In conclusion, and considering that a Qualcast Electric Rotary Lawnmower, Toronto XXL Charcoal Barbecue Grill With Double Side Tables and Toshiba 28W8DBA 28" widescreen Dolby Pro Surround Television cannot by any stretch of the imagination be stuffed into luggage normally set aside for long holidays. one must surmise that to attempt to follow your advice and ''go fill my suitcase with the things I haven't sold'' would be foolhardy.
I hope you will forgive my stating that, however much you may vainly attempt to ''Console Me'', Jean and I are unlikely to heed any further impractical unvended merchandise storage or indeed any advice that you may seek to to impart in the future. Although we had no ''Preconceptions'' regarding the validity of your counsel, our suspicions should have perhaps been aroused upon seeing the lady in the static sportscar in your promotional video who clearly had mauve spectacles on, which would surely render any visual interpretation of solar refraction as of a pinkish hue.
Yours
Derek Philpott
My Dear Uncle Derek,
Thank you kindly for your loquacious letter detailing your problems selling, packaging and posting unwanted electrical items and bric-a-brac in a modern world obsessed with complex online transactions. May I suggest that you and Jean would be more suited to selling your, um… ‘goods’ via ‘old skool’ methods, namely at a car boot sale?
In fact, I can highly recommend a rather special one on Sundays, and the occasional Bank Holiday Monday should that better suit your social calendar. It is just outside of Tipton and is run by a mate of a mate of Ozzy Osbourne’s uncle. Oh yes, it is indeed frequented by many a local celebrity (including myself)! He tells me that E.L.O.’s Jeff Lynne once set up a stall flogging a Betamax video recorder, a fake Samurai sword and an immaculate box set of Famous Five books. The recorder became a quite a talking point and unfortunately, a bone of contention, spawning rumours as to whether it was actually in good working order. Since there was no source of electricity to test the machine, this remained unsold, until he signed said items and a deal was struck - a tenner all in!
So you see, not only can this be a lucrative hobby, but you would be amazed by what you can find there! Apparently, on the run up to Christmas, Noddy Holder and Roy Wood left their be-tinselled stalls unattended and almost came to blows fighting over a rare Christmas Compilation album in the bargain bucket. It caused such a scene, with tufts of hair flying everywhere! They even knocked over John Taylor’s (of Duran Duran) stall, breaking the handle off the teapot from his Charles and Diana commemorative tea set (which could have fetched £20 had the right customer come along – and had the saucers been present). It was a good job that Laura Mvula was there to call time! Nobody was a victor in this situation though… They had to concede to handing said album over to John, along with some random signed memorabilia from UB40, Jamelia etc, plus an additional £5.70 each, by way of compensation for breakages. It’s anything but dull, I can tell you! You may find it puzzling why a busy Brummie gal would venture out to the far reaches of the Black Country on a regular basis, but I was certainly glad I did when I found not only umpteen Fuzzbox shaped discs and MsChiefs live gig bootlegs, but also a handheld video made by a fan who had believed what he read in The Sunday Sport and was clearly in search of my Fuzzbox. But don’t take my word for it; ask Horace Panter of The Specials, who can often be found on his hands and knees rummaging under the tables, digging out old cassette tapes to inspire artwork.
Should you take my sound advice to visit this most excellent and legendary car boot sale with its plethora of paraphernalia, I strongly advise that you take the option of bringing a packed lunch and a thermos of coffee/tea with you, along with a couple of fold-out chairs (not deck chairs; you’ll never get back out of them) and your tartan blanket. Forget your golfing umbrella and pac-a-mac-in-a-sac at your peril! The West Midlands, contrary to popular belief, is not strictly speaking ‘up north’ (although I cannot deny that it is north of Scratchwood); it is in the middle of our country. The weather stations may well promise some big salvation, however if anything, the weather is a little less clement than ‘dahn sahf’.
My one and only bug-bear with this car boot sale is that the on-site catering is basically (and I do mean basic) bacon and/or sausage butties. As a vegetarian I have no problem with the ‘butties’ element of these culinary offerings, in truth I do love a good chip butty, but clearly the choice between bacon and/or sausage is no real choice at all. This renders my 10% discount VIP card (‘Perks’ of the job you see!) utterly useless; the discount is only on food. Undoubtedly, ‘dahn sahf’ would boast a greater range of cuisine, including vegetarian and vegan options.
Anyway, I digress. Back to the matter in hand…
As for my previous assertion, nay instruction in Pink Sunshine to “go fill your suitcase with the things you haven't sold”, I must concede that this is no longer the advice that I would give. Times have changed and I now recognise this information as being naïve and overly optimistic. I reminisce about those fuzzy days when I had less cares and less things to pack. You will also be aware of our various stints on shows like Crackerjack and Saturday Superstore in which it was commonplace to participate in wacky games, such as seeing how many people could pack into a Mini, or how many sundry items could be stuffed in a suitcase, or held in one’s arms. These days, I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere with just one lone case anyway. At the very least, an additional piece of coordinated hand luggage would be essential. As Jean will no doubt concur, it is unrealistic for a lady of certain years to travel without a full range of clothing options and of course, miscellaneous items.
In conclusion, youth’s idyllic notion of travelling light is no longer a practical option that I would promote or pursue. I do hope I have been of some assistance and enlightenment. Hope to see you next Bank Hol at the celeb car boot! I wish you a Pink Sunshine-y day!
With True Love (aah-aah) True Love (aah-aah) from ViX ‘Fuzzbox’ of W.G.A.F.A.W.G.U.I.!!
Dear Ms. Tzuke,
Thank you but I'm afraid that I will have to decline your invitation to stay with you until dawn. I need an early one tonight on account of Jean and I having a very full schedule tomorrow topped off with, in answer to your unfeasibly perceptive enquiry as to whether it is a game that I am playing, a Pictionary night at Gordon Gilliard's. Sadly your offer of showing me a sunset, which I can quite easily do at any time by staying up late myself or watching the opening credits of Hawaii Five O on Youtube, would write the day off altogether
Dear Sad Café,
Re: Everyday Hurts
I potentially bring disturbing news, Sad Café, in relation to your perceived paramour, whose desertion has afflicted you with perpetual and alarmingly escalating discomfort. Judgement, however, with respect to the conjectural swain and your recent dereliction will be reserved pending the gleaning of further vital and profoundly pertinent data, as saliently detailed below:
1) Pertaining to the lamplight from her window, please clarify, if you are able, whether or not said fenestral luminescence was of a reddish hue.
2) You openly testify that you came up (indicating elevation to a higher floor) to her room to question her, and found her sitting all alone, contrary to your expectations. As no reference is made in your splendid vocalist’s ‘yearning delivery’ to the means by which the premises were accessed, please specify if entry was achieved by way of a doorbell, knocker, communal buzzer, intercom system, debatable utilisation of the ‘trades’ button, or a partially or fully ajar street door. If the latter, as I grimly suspect, please verify if you witnessed a sign in the hallway featuring a diagonal arrow pointed to an upper level adjacent to the word ‘Model’, perhaps hurriedly scrawled in heavy felt-tip marker pen.
3) With regard to the young man across the street who looks something like you and is walking with his head down to the ground that you espied when you looked down from the window, please furnish me with the following specifics. Was the imperfect doppelganger of a sheepish mien perhaps awkwardly pacing to and fro outside the tenement for some time as if summoning up the courage to cross the threshold? Were you of the impression that the youth was purposefully averting his gaze pavementwards in order to perhaps shield the exposure of distinct facial features from surveillance cameras situated on lampposts along the thoroughfare?
