Dear Mr. Difford

Re: Tempted (by the fruit of another)

We have been going to the same shop for our apples, tangerines and suchlike for years, but recently saw that a new competitor further down the High Street was offering slightly larger water melons at a cheaper price.

You can therefore only imagine my embarrassment upon leaving the rival establishment yesterday to bump straight into our original grocer.

One hears that you also suffered a similar predicament and can only hope that, to use today’s parlance, the ''cringe factor'' was not as great.

On an unrelated matter, one is a little perplexed with regard to your historical junket. Whenever we go on holiday we tend to either take a taxi or drop the Nissan Juke at Long Stay South, and collect it after clearing passport control and Nothing To Declare upon our return. Even were we to rent a vehicle when abroad, it is in our experience the norm to drop it off, normally via an allocated bay or forecourt, to Record or Hertz when the holiday is complete.

We are therefore bamboozled that upon your own arrival back in the U.K., rather than being at the terminal, its baggage collection point and then the multi-storey or hard standing area, you are actually at the car park and then the airport and baggage carousel.

Wishing you are well and hate to be untrue,


Derek and Dave Philpott (of old and new)


Dear Derek and Dave

I often park my car miles from the airport to avoid huge bills for parking, this can lead in horror when sometimes your car is parked in a field miles away from any security.


Returning from Spain, where I visit my dodgy friends, my car was found broken into.


Nothing was stolen, ther was nothing to nick.

At the carousel I often meet people I have not seen for years, they say 'hello Glenn how's it going, love your songs.’


It's always so good to see my bags tip on their side down the shoot. Almost home feelings. The airport is a sad place for me; I cry and stand there looking at the sky. I never want to leave, I always want to come back, to the laundry on the hill where my pants are spinning around as we speak.



Chris Difford


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