In Competition No. 2451 you were asked to imagine that two strangers have met through our column ‘The Love Bug’ and that both have simultaneously posted letters indicating that further meetings are not on. You were invited to provide both letters.
Only once have I responded to a sex advertisement. As a result I found myself outside 231 Majuba Road in some suburb in a light drizzle. I was welcomed by a drab couple, who offered me Nescafé, after which I was invited to enjoy the wife on the rug in front of an electric fire while the husband photographed us from the next room. It was easy to decline, but difficult to find the right words for refusal. This week you were not as amusing as I’d hoped, though I continue to think that the comp was potentially uproarious. The prizewinners, printed below, get £25 each, and the bonus fiver belongs to Jonathan Taylor.
Dear Very Interesting, It was lovely to meet you under the big round clock at Cardiff station and the knotted handkerchief on your head made you very easy to spot. Would have been nice to get to know you better — a name would have been good — but I suppose on a trainspotting date you need to concentrate quite hard. Not sure I understood ‘assertive’ correctly but I’m afraid your later suggestion wasn’t quite my scene. Good luck with the timetable!
Dear Ex-Model, I enjoyed meeting you on Thursday and I’m sorry it rained. It meant I had to keep wiping my glasses to get the numbers down and couldn’t do much talking. It might have been nice if you’d helped me more, but you seemed preoccupied with keeping dry. Oh well! There’ll be another one along in a minute! PS. Hope I didn’t offend you afterwards — I misread ‘caring’ for ‘caning’.
Jonathan Taylor
Dear Joe, I’ll admit it: I thought when I first dialled your number that ‘Ldn’ in your ‘Love Bug’ advertisement was an abbreviation of Llandudno. I only ever see The Spectator at the hairdresser’s. I should have retreated when I realised the truth. My chapel upbringing has not prepared me for metropolitan ways, and your professed love of the arts clearly does not extend to anything Welsh. As for that so-called art-house film, dirty is dirty even if it does have subtitles. Yours valleydictorily — there’s punny — Gwyneth
Dear Gwyneth, My edition of Chambers gives ‘eisteddfods’ and ‘eisteddfodau’ as the plural and allows the ‘f’ to be pronounced ‘f’ or ‘v’. So we were both right — except that I didn’t presume to correct you. Chambers also says that ‘Welsh rabbit’ is spelt ‘rarebit’ by wiseacres. That, I would say, closes the matter. Farewell, little wiseacre. Joe
Keith Norman
Dear Mr Blakeley, Thanks for Monday evening’s meeting. What a courteous fellow you are. Incidentally, you appear to know such a lot about life’s minutiae. You must have more to reveal about yourself. However, more importantly, I didn’t have the heart to respond when you said you had been up at BNC. I’m afraid Oxford gives me bad vibes. I’m light blue at heart. Oxford men are not on my agenda. Sorry.
Dear Ms Belasis, Thank you for seeing me. You were so pleasant and at times quite delightful. I was surprised you knew so much about your family history — way back to the Norman invasion! As you would have gathered, I am a man of action, firmness, immediacy and boldness. I fear I am more than you might have bargained for. I may be too much for you. Let’s leave the matter there. Yours etc.
Sid Field
Dear Jonathan, Thank you. You lived up to your description, and we had a good evening, didn’t we? But reading between the lines I worry about the future. Perhaps it’s me. I just wonder where ‘maybe more’ might lead, way out beyond the ‘shared interests’. Thinking it over, let’s leave our evening together as a single glowing light in a darker world — and not spoil the memory by trying to repeat it. I wish you well.
Dear Sarah, I wish you well. Thinking it over, let’s leave our evening together as a single glowing light in a darker world — and not spoil the memory by trying to repeat it. Way out beyond the ‘shared interests’ I just wonder where ‘maybe more’ might lead. Perhaps it’s me. But reading between the lines I worry about the future. We had a good evening, didn’t we? You lived up to your description! Thank you.
D.A. Prince
Dear Wally, As your entry in ‘The Love Bug’ stated ‘solvent businessman’ I was surprised to learn that you flog cheap paint-thinners to dodgy car repairers, and that ‘jet setter’ referred to your black dog. I clearly embarrassed you by taking your offer of ‘going Dutch’ to be an invitation to accompany you to Amsterdam, when you were simply stipulating that I should pay for my Big Mac and Coke, and it was silly of me not to understand that ‘no ties’ meant an open-necked shirt. I feel sure your love of walking is genuine, as you would find anything preferable to paying a bus fare.
Dear Mabel, It was interesting to meet you: it made me appreciate being alone. I was disappointed at your lack of humour, after your claiming ‘gsoh’. I now gather that this meant ‘got sick of husband’, that ‘n/s’ mean ‘no sex’ and that ‘wltm’ meant ‘would like the money’. Also I object to being addressed as ‘tightwad’ in Woolworths and you should have warned me that you have a bone through your nose.
Michael Saxby
Dear Dawn, It was charming to meet a fellow enthusiast with a ‘passion for stars’. Your encyclopaedic knowledge of celebrities was laudable as was your desire to become one. No doubt your name, being associated with Venus (the morning star, not Williams) will help. Having discovered that by ‘Ldn’ you meant Llansadwrn, I fear that regular journeys from Sussex to Anglesey would be too much at my age. Best follow our different stars. Patrick
Dear Patrick, What a one you are! All that talk about red giants, rockets, black holes and galactic explosions. I saw the twinkle in your eyes! Sadly I mistook ‘young at heart’ for someone younger. I pictured a Jennifer Aniston/Vince Vaughn-type set-up. Sorry to disappoint you. Good luck with the new telescope. Don’t point it anywhere naughty, will you! Cheers, Dawn. PS. Have you ever thought about buying a new jacket?
Alan Millard
No. 2454: Dire diary
As some of us who have later reread our own know, the diary of a 19-year-old can be pretty cringe-making. You are invited to supply some typical entries which the writer would shudder at 20 years on. Maximum 150 words. Entries to ‘Competition No. 2454’ by 27 July.
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