Letter of Complaint #1
It's funny what you do when you're bored. Last night, I decided to write a letter of complaint to The Daily Echo:
Dear Sirs
I was incandescent with rage when I opened my copy of the Echo on Wednesday 6th February to see that the whole of page three of my newspaper (save for an advertisement on a website dealing in women's boots which, incidentally, I found most helpful) was dedicated to the charming young man who had decided to ingest his house key after a night of alcohol consumption. In my state of disbelief I immediately phoned my wife to inform her of the article, who, when I related the tale, was as shocked as I.
As if the article itself wasn't degrading, and quite frankly depressing, enough, I found myself having to endure a picture of the greasy-haired oik re-enacting the incident with a smug, proud grin on his face! Perhaps when young Mr Foster has eaten his way through his seventh chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle in front of the 'Hollyoaks' omnibus in a grim effort to cure his no doubt harrowing hangover, he can stop to think of the people who he denied hospital treatment on his night of heroism. Only recently, in fact, I myself found that an appointment I has scheduled for a minor operation to cure my ingrowing toenail had been cancelled - and perhaps this now explains why! Perhaps the idiotic Mr Foster may have decided that his appetite for inanimate objects was not sated by his house key and had decided to consume his shoe after an all-night lager binge?
I'm afraid this article only enforces my belief that our hard-earned taxes are obviously keeping these idiots in a constant supply of Rizla, Doc Martin boots and super-strength cider. It's bad enough they let these apathy-ridden, binge-drinking pseudo-students eat in the same restaurants as the rest of society, but now they feel the need to fill our papers with their tales of Saturday night debauchery!
Yours in true disgust
Mike Wathen
Dear Sirs
I was incandescent with rage when I opened my copy of the Echo on Wednesday 6th February to see that the whole of page three of my newspaper (save for an advertisement on a website dealing in women's boots which, incidentally, I found most helpful) was dedicated to the charming young man who had decided to ingest his house key after a night of alcohol consumption. In my state of disbelief I immediately phoned my wife to inform her of the article, who, when I related the tale, was as shocked as I.
As if the article itself wasn't degrading, and quite frankly depressing, enough, I found myself having to endure a picture of the greasy-haired oik re-enacting the incident with a smug, proud grin on his face! Perhaps when young Mr Foster has eaten his way through his seventh chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle in front of the 'Hollyoaks' omnibus in a grim effort to cure his no doubt harrowing hangover, he can stop to think of the people who he denied hospital treatment on his night of heroism. Only recently, in fact, I myself found that an appointment I has scheduled for a minor operation to cure my ingrowing toenail had been cancelled - and perhaps this now explains why! Perhaps the idiotic Mr Foster may have decided that his appetite for inanimate objects was not sated by his house key and had decided to consume his shoe after an all-night lager binge?
I'm afraid this article only enforces my belief that our hard-earned taxes are obviously keeping these idiots in a constant supply of Rizla, Doc Martin boots and super-strength cider. It's bad enough they let these apathy-ridden, binge-drinking pseudo-students eat in the same restaurants as the rest of society, but now they feel the need to fill our papers with their tales of Saturday night debauchery!
Yours in true disgust
Mike Wathen