Letters to the Councillor

Sir

I wish to point out an interesting coincidence in relation to your coverage of the opposition to new, brighter (too bright) lighting being installed at great financial cost to the taxpayer, on the A417 to County Durham (“Bright Light? What a Bunch of Shit”, 28th July 2004). Readers might be interested to know that the lights themselves have an order code of A417 – the very same name as that of the road on which they were installed.

Sanctimus Paxo, County Durham


Sir

I wish to congratulate you on your brilliant story on revenge cuts and slashes (“And This One’s for Dave”, 16th July 2004). I myself was the victim of a “Maisie’s Hammock” in 1987 – in which my eyelids were sliced at the top, resulting in a hammock-like flap of skin flailing twixt my low-lid and my eyebrow. However, I was also unfortunate enough to receive what was known as a “Fuck Me Finale”, which entailed surprising the “hammock” victim with a scarcely believable fact of outrageous proportions, or a piece of extraordinarily bad news (in my case, I was (errantly) informed that Bruce Forsythe had a twin, which was how come he done so much showbiz). The stretching of the skin caused by the resulting “fuck me!” glance of wide-eyed shock tore the eyelids clean off my facial visage. These were then given the “Burning Bernie” treatment in front of my very now-very-wide eyes, to ensure that they would never be returned to their rightful place.

Bradley Justice, Milton Keynes


Sir

I must admit that before I had read you article “Was Hitler a Gypsy?” (16th June 2004) I would have considered such a question a no-brainer. However, you presented the evidence most convincingly. His deep-routed links with circus can be seen in his highly entertaining show-like speeches. His nomadic love of travelling – particularly to Eastern Europe – with little or no warning at all, demonstrated an instinctual lust for drifting. It now becomes clear that those ridiculous bulging pantaloons – which I had always assumed were merely garments of aesthetic flamboyancy – were in fact the perfect cover-up for the Fuhrer’s crippling rickets – a sure sign of the poverty synonymous with gypos.

Berndt Berger, Berlin


Sir

Jethro Clappington (“Mum was Missile” letter, 14th June 2004) might be interested to hear that he was not the only captain to be earflanked by explosures from the skies back in 1912. I was captain of the 5th Regiment Slutmouth brigade, and was spacked sideless to such an extent that I was forced home early. I was smanked by an unfortunately aimed “Wheezing Jeffrey”, just as I was about to sneak into my third mouthful of Trenchy Pie. Three sections of my face had to be muzzled together for a total of 16 months.

May I also point out that Mr Clappington’s account must certainly contain falsehoods, since the sandwich in question apparently contained “pickle”. As anyone who actually served at this time will be aware, this word – and subsequently the preserve to which it is to this day bound – was banned in everyday speech due to its being code for “imminent German attack probably from 2 o’clock possibly 3”.

Pain is a competition, Mr Clappington, and I believe I win this griefboast.

Julian Marquisimass, Grizzleton