Dear Natalie Portman…

Dear Natalie,

I am trying to name my dog. This, as I’m sure you have experienced, is a most cumbersome trial of creativity and so, it is to you I turn for some advice. If I describe my dog for you would you suggest 7 – 10 options for a name? Should one of your names be chosen, we will christen the kennel ‘The Natalie Portman Kennel’ in your honour.

MY DOG:
Breed: Dog
Age: Young
Face: Friendly

He has four legs, and a tail that wags with the motion of a nervous golfer. His fur covers most of his body. The nose, inside of the ears and belly are the main naked areas. His eyes are round. In terms of personality, if he was a cocktail he would be a Harvey Wallbanger, if he was a football team he would be Kettering Town and if he was a bridge, he would be the Clifton Suspension Bridge.

(All details are courtesy of a nationwide survey*)

Yours,
—
Herbert Rumbelow

*survey taken driving down the M1

Dear Justin Timberlake…

Dear Justin,

Do you consider yourself apropos of nothing?

Yours,
—
H. Rumbelow

Knock Knock…

Knock Knock
Who’s There?
Dr
Dr Who?
No, Dr Kildare
Really?!
No, it actually is Dr Who! You won a BBC competition to receive a visit from David Tennant, please let us in as his time is quite tight.

Dear David Hasselhoff…

Dear David,

I have been dreaming about you for the past few evenings. It all started when I bought a new bed spread (a blue and white stripe with matching valance) and I think the two are no coincidence. I have discussed the situation with my friend George (who sleeps on a futon) and he has suggested that I contact you in case these dreams are premonitions. This may aid you in your day to day life.

DREAM 1:
You are a golf pro playing in a match on the European tour. Your opponent is a squid name ‘Dangerous Harry’ who uses an Ice Hockey stick instead of a traditional club. He beats you and you fly into a rage smashing up the entire inventory of Hamleys while onlookers float in ice baths.

DREAM 2:
You are driving through a blue desert somewhere in Africa. All around are antelopes with egg whisks for antlers, but you seem not to care. On the radio a station is running a competition asking listeners for their favourite film featuring gambling. This incenses you, and you drive to a satellite receiving station to phone them and complain about their lack of bacon based content. Meanwhile, a parallel aspect of the dream runs in subtitle and explains the various temperature states of your bodily appendages.

DREAM 3:
It’s 17th Century Japan, and you are trying to selling old Nintendo Entertainment System games to the locals who, understandably, look bemused. You paradoxically claim that in the future they will thank you for inventing the gaming system, and tired, accept their offers of tea (though you choose to bathe in it, rather than drink it). You have a St Bernard who you give regular piggy backs to during which you will not speak to anyone.

If you could pass on a forwarding address, I will continue to send updates with accompanying drawings.

Yours,
—
H. Rumbelow

Dear Antony Costa…

Dear Antony,

If I were to make an alphabetical list of words that I variously use to describe you to my friends, family and priest, then the list would read as follows:

A – Aposite
B – Burgundy
C – Careful
D – Dusty
E – Ecclesiastical
F – Fundraising
G – Growing
H – Hirsute
I – Inuit
J – Jocular
K – Kitsch
L – Lumpen
M – Molecular
N – Niche
O – Overwrought
P – Precipitous
Q – Quelled
R – Ruminant
S – Slight
T – Testing
U – Ungainly
V – Vexed
W – Worming
X – X (i.e. cross)
Y – Yoplait-covered
Z – Zizzing

Yours,
—
H. Rumbelow

My dog’s got no nose…

James: My dog has no nose
Gordon: Man, that’s really sad. What happened?
James: Got in a fight with a fox. It’s kind of healed over now, has a sort of scar there. I mean he’s fine now, but it isn’t nice.

Dear Pete Townshend…

Dear Pete(r),

My friend George, a proponent of cavandoli macrame and the author of several pamphlets on the subject, has requested my presence at a coffee morning he is holding to opine the benefits of macrame as a way of quitting smoking.

Since I don’t smoke, do not drink coffee and I positively despise marcrame (I once tripped on a macrame rug while visiting a hospital ward), I’m not sure I should go. But here’s the rub: I feel I should support George in this endeavour as I currently only support him in 82% of his endeavours while he supports me 94% of the time. A heavy margin, and one that keeps me up at night.

Would you go?

Yours,
—
H. Rumbelow