Dear Mr. Carter
My son entertains in care homes for a living and I was recently distraught to witness a sourfaced thirty something stop his performance at an assisted living warden-controlled community and insist that he alter the words of the Lonnie Donegan skiffle classic that he was in the middle of to ‘’My male of advanced years is a refuse operative’’.
Sadly, Mr. Carter, and in many ways I also blame the Government, this current epidemic of political correctness shows no sign of abating in its virulence, and I fear that it may one day infect the back catalogues of indie rock alternative dance duos such as yourselves, The Beloved and, arguably, Daphne and Celeste and Shampoo.
Unless therefore your title is a little known appointment to the Order akin to that of an M.B.E. (perhaps Urbane Society Member or somesuch) allowing you to hold precedent in these matters, I regret that Sheriff Big Boned Man, Slow Metabolismed Marshall, The Hormonally Afflicted Deputy or indeed Horizontally Challenged Foreman should be forthwith employed in order for you not to fall foul of trending sensibilities.
It is sincerely hoped that this missive is not construed as a 102nd Damnation.
Dear Mr Philpott,
Apologies for the long delay in replying. I'm afraid that once I began to consider your letter, after I'd given the idea the time of day (3am incidentally, the can of worms you have opened is literally keeping me awake) my whole world started to collapse.
My initial reaction was to suggest 'political correctness gone mad' but then I wondered whether such a phrase was in itself politically incorrect. A few hours later, having abandoned coming up with a kinder phrase for 'gone mad', I had renamed almost thirty per cent of my song titles and lyrics that could be misunderstood. I have also changed the name of my cat and
To read the rest of this spectacular reply from the gentleman that is Jim Bob Carter please the ''Dear Mr. Pop Star'' book support now!! Out 2017