Dear The Jags

Some months ago, such was my haste in rushing in from the garden before the other person hung up, I tripped over our tortoiseshell Gladys and sprained my ankle, which was my first mishap in about three years. You can therefore only imagine my consternation in establishing that all the caller was interested in was if I had had a trip or fall within that time, to which the answer would have been no if they had not have contacted me.


As a result we have now gone to great lengths, including walking into shops we are not interested in at the slightest glimpse of a charity tabard, whispering in dry cleaners, and going ex-directory, to keep our landline and mobile details secret and rid ourselves of these annoying sales and unwanted distant relative nuisances once and for all.

 

I was distraught therefore, whilst searching for big cat footage on youtube today, to learn via Top of the Pops 2 that all of our efforts had been scuppered by yourselves, who have my number written on the back of your hands, for the whole of the 'tea time' public to see. Thankfully however ‘pausing the frame’ upon your lead singer’s palm rears during his ‘electric guitar solo’, I found both to be not only ‘unreadable’ but blank, thus rendering the ‘power pop classic’ totally nonsensical.

 

Although Jean and I are relieved at having avoided all the kerfuffle and expenses of a solicitor and invasion of privacy litigation, we do wish that we had not paid attention to the your ‘new wave combo’ and fear that one day you MAY push your luck too far!

 

Yours

 

 

Derek Philpott

 

 

Dear Gladys,

I was sorry to hear that you were involved in Derek’s unfortunate accident. This unpleasantness could easily have been avoided if he had just subscribed to the Telephone Preference Service, who block unwanted calls.

I would have thought that a man who could make the giant leap from nuisance calls to the Jags 1979 top twenty hit  “I’ve got your number written on the back of my hand “, would have been nimble enough to jump over a tortoiseshell cat.

Derek must have been suffering from a Tetley Tea induced bout of paranoia to believe that his number was visible on the back of the singer's hand, because he also sings  ‘Hey, where’s your number gone?’ so he has obviously washed it off, no doubt using a pumice stone after the experience of rejection

Derek should also be aware that poetic licence is not restricted to poetry and that It’s not really raining men, doves don’t cry, the rain is not purple, the answers are not blowing in the wind, the Vapors did not turn Japanese and Blondie were not actually hanging on the telephone

I think you will agree that accidents will happen when you jump to conclusions.

Happy Hunting,

Steve Prudence.

 

 

 

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