Paging J.R Ewing...

Dear Poet,

I hope I didn't make you feel bad about your smile. I only said it because I have the same face. I mean not exactly the same face, obviously, that would be weird, not to mention unfortunate for me, as I am a woman and you are a man and while I can carry off many different looks, I'm not so sure I could rock a beard. Unless of course I were to join a circus, then a beard would be profitable. Anyway, when I say the same face, I mean the kind of face that sometimes looks sad, even when I am riding a unicycle, whilst juggling, on the inside. People always ask, what's wrong with you? Why are you in a bad mood? I am almost never in a bad mood, except when people tell me I am, that annoys me. I think you have a nice face, your words certainly reflect a nice soul. I just wanted to clear that up. I hope you didn't think I was rude.

Yours sincerely,

5,6,7,8....

Dear Feet,

Just to give you a heads up, tomorrow we are going dancing, I shall be putting you in very high shoes, gold no less, you will spin, all night, my friends and I are making play lists. I 'll be very surprised if we sit down at all, the music is going to be very good indeed, there is talk of re-enacting the Beyonce video, you know the one we practice all the time in the front room, when no one is looking...

So today, you need to rest up, you need to kick back in those really ugly but very comfortable slippers we got for Christmas, I know you hate them as much as I do, but you'll be glad of it tomorrow, of course you can wear your converse when we go outside, I'm not unreasonable. Yes, tomorrows shoes will be a challenge, I'm not going to lie to you, you will take a battering, but if I promise to paint your toenails and get you rubbed, I'm sure we can work something out...

Yours sincerely,

One, Two, Key...

Dear Keys,

Why must you torment me so? Why are we trapped in this perpetual game of hide and seek? Why can you never stay where I left you? No one can get in and I can't get out, my house is empty and yet I can hear chuckling...I shall count to ten, ready or not, keep your place or you'll be caught...

Yours sincerely,

E=mc2

Dear we can't use your real name so let's just call you incapable,

If you don't want the ladies to laugh at your prowess, perhaps you should ease up on the mdma, radical idea, I know...

Yours sincerely,

About Last Night...

Dear Night,

I think you might be jealous, you seem to be coming between me and day. You keep me up late and sometimes wake me in the middle of the night, thinking about things I can't control and can do nothing about. I have always loved day, you knew this about me when we first met, granted it must be frustrating for you, you get me at my worst, when I am spent and in no mood to talk, you have waited patiently all day, only for me to fall asleep the moment I lie down.

Waking me up is not the answer, it just makes me resentful of you. Last night, for example, you chose to stick Kool and the Gang, in my head, on continuous loop for two hours, this was not at a club, it was just me and the duvet and every single time I attempted to close my peepers, there it was, "get down on it, get down it", for the love of God, why, night, why? What good does it do? All it really does is eat into the time I spend with day, he's started to notice how tired I am, not to mention my constant late arrival, I used to get up with the birds, lately, he's lucky if he sees me before 11. He's patient, I give him that, he's there every morning, waiting, he never lets me down, always full of promise, always a plenitude of things to do, always an adventure to be had, he deserves better from me and so you really are pushing me into a corner, you're making me choose.

He on the other hand has always been understanding of you, he accepts, that sometimes a girl has to stay up all night, there are songs to be danced to, drinks to be drunk, men to be...well actually, I'm going a bit far there, you know what I mean, no sense in embarrassing us all, anyway the point being, relationships are about give and take and you are just going to have to get your head around our little threesome, There is no other option, sure as night follows day...




Yours sincerely,

Hear Ye, Hear Ye...

Dear World,

If you ever get the chance to see Grace Jones, hoola hoop, yes I said hoola hoop, whilst singing slave to the rhythm, I suggest you take it....

Yours sincerely,

30 Days Has September...

Dear January,
Why, oh why, must you be so bleak? You sir, for you most certainly are a sir, if you had a profession, apart from high priest of the calendar month misery, you would be a Headmaster at an all boys boarding school, think Enid Blyton. You are a relentless, grey, post Christmas come down, although you do make way for rhubarb and daffodils, they are at this time, as forced as my last meeting with my ex boyfriend's parents, it's all a bit too soon and as a result doesn't quite work.

In December, there is a multitude of treats, I appreciate Christmas, (which I love) is a highlight for many, but more than that, the best day of the year occurs in December, the 21st, where everything becomes brighter, extra daylight, better than anything Father Christmas can bring down the chimney. But you, January, with your endless sales, detox's and new beginnings, the false hope of out with the old, in with the new. Why must everything old be put aside? Like sticking your parents in a care home before they've even turned 60. Why must new habits begin and old ones be broken? The giving up of everything fun, for what else is there to do in January if smoking and drinking are taken out of the equation? I don't even smoke, I take it up in January however, just because I can. No one goes out, because they are behaving themselves, why? Why are we not rushing into a new year with an appetite for everything, in particular disgraceful behaviour? Why don't we stop giving stuff up and start taking stuff up? Why the deprivation and self flagellation, it's like the whole world's gone Catholic, I can say this, because I am Catholic, horribly lapsed, but Catholic none the less, schooled in the art of kneel, sit, stand, kneel, sit , stand, much like lather rinse repeat, only your hair is not so shiny and they remind you how tarnished your soul is.

I fear dear January, that if I do not discuss this with you then next year you will be no different, I will be no different. I'm anticipating the arrival of your more exciting, joyous friend February and I look forward to your response...

Yours sincerely,

Lust for Dollars...

Dear Iggy Pop,

You broke my heart today, lust for life? I think not.



Yours sincerely,

Michelle Ma Belle...

Dear Michelle,

What a crazy day yesterday must have been for you and yours. It's quite a weight I imagine carrying the hopes of billions. You and yours, are responsible for the world possibly liking America again. All you have to do is undo 8 years of disaster and you should be fine, no small task, oh and if you could sort out the global recession while you're at it, it would be appreciated.

Everyone is talking about change, where you're concerned, I don't think you're about change, I think you very much represent the old school. The school that shows love and support and an occasional kick up the arse, is what life is really about. The values that have been forgotten, the fact that love is not a fairy tale, that it doesn't always happen the way it does in the movies, the fact that sometimes a man needs to be rescued, just as much as a woman does.

Everything amazing was built on a good foundation, it appears you and yours, are Americas new foundation, you get to build a better America, like lego, only probably not as much fun. Through all of this you have shown yourselves to be the kind of people who want the best, for themselves and others. I think for the first time in a long time, there is a woman in the White House who stands on her own as a person, in fact, who stands out as a person.

I like living history, I like that I saw the day America changed and changed for the better, not because of race or creed but because the best man won, what was fair and right prevailed, something, most of us living outside of your country, doubted they would see again. So good luck to you, I look forward to the next four years and as for the outfits? Well, that's the real change, a stylin' First Lady? Now that really is something I never thought I would see in my lifetime...

Yours sincerely,

I Demand A Refund....

Dear we can't use your real name so lets just call you Narcissus,

You say you are a one show a night kinda guy, if I'd known there would be no encore, I never would have bought the ticket...

Yours sincerely,

Body Bored...

Dear Women,
I’m bored of it, I’m bored when it comes out of my mouth, your mouth, the mouth of every woman over the age of twelve, every magazine, every advertisement, every Saturday night wardrobe crisis, every single time I try something on in an ill lit fitting room, tired of it and I’m starting the revolution, as soon as I put down my cake, cake as you will learn is an important part of the uprising.

Let's try something new this year, and I don’t mean a recipe by Monsieur Olivier, although enjoying food, instead of beating yourself to within an inch of your life with a bag of Maltesers would be a good start. Lets bring back thank you, lets bring back grace, confidence, and dare I say it? Acceptance. Now don’t panic, we will not be cleansing any aura’s or spring cleaning the old chakra, this is simply a rant, not a new subject even, but I was wondering at what point it happens? I was made to wonder by the untainted, the one who knows her own mind, the one who can’t read and does not like princesses… I said to her the other day, in all of her four year old glory, “You’re gorgeous”, she responded,” I know”. Now I’m not even sure if you can know what it even means at that age to be gorgeous, it would seem it’s not about knowing, it’s about feeling, thus words mean nothing, although before I shoot myself in the foot, please keep reading…

I thought it was fantastic that she took it as a given, a simple fact if you like and I was jealous, as well as in awe of her confidence, her belief, her accepting a compliment graciously and swiftly before moving the conversation onto more important matters, like whether she should sing Valerie or Yellow Submarine? And did I, in fact, like fruit pot? It struck a chord within me and later as I sat and thought about our day, I wondered why little girls don’t grow into big girls, who believe in their own beauty and instead grow into women quick to respond to “you look good” with “if only I could lose the muffin top …”

I personally, love to blame the media, I love to blame everyone actually, I’m not one for accepting responsibility. I’ll point the finger, grab my flaming torch and march up to the head offices at glossy magazine mountain. I’d bet money that underneath the sharp bob, a pair of rusty bolts are securing the pearls, draping beautifully on the cashmere twin set… The very magazines you are reading, are paying for, are, by the way, filled to the fabulous brim with articles on loving yourself, but just in case you don’t, the back twenty pages are a reliable source, should you need, bigger tits, a smaller nose, fat sucked out, lips put in, forehead paralysed, (my personal favourite), injecting, yes injecting! Poison, POISON, like New York, New York, so good I typed it twice, into your face so that you never smile again, now that’s beauty!

We live in a world which has invented a way to stop you smiling, a world which charges you £350 every six months for the privilege of not smiling, brings a tear to the botoxed eye, doesn’t it? Not that you’d know, you probably can’t feel it, your lids are paralysed, so you can’t even blink those bad boys back, damn it, now my mascara is running… I am as guilty as the rest, I buy the magazines, I wonder why at the age of 33 I’m not as skinny as the 14 year old modelling the overpriced tapered jeans I am coveting? I am aware I am being duped, I am like a bluebottle head-butting a window, somehow unable to stop, so I am asking you, me, all of us to open the window, help out the bluebottle, disgusting metaphor I know, but if you let it out, you won’t end up with maggots...

I am not telling you anything you don’t know, what I am doing is asking you to start saying thank you, that’s all ladies, the next time someone tells you look good, gorgeous even, try saying thank you and if you’re feeling really brave, you might even want to try saying, I know...

Yours sincerely,

Just Right...

Dear Goldilocks,

Fictitous as you may be, I felt the need to write and tell you, that you lady, are a true feminist icon. You are the girl who taught me not to settle, to keep on looking until what I find is just right. People may label you a trespasser, and an invader of personal space and privacy, but I guess that's what made you a leader and not a follower. Hell, you even went up against three big bears!

All the other girls, in all the other fairy stories wait to be rescued, you just did your own thing. Need a rest? Then sit down. Feeling hungry? Eat some porridge. Feeling sleepy? Take a nap. What's not to love about a girl who rescues herself? And yes, I understand it's not so much a fairy story as a fable, but it strikes me as odd that the one girl who takes care of herself, gets her comeuppance. The girls who wait to be rescued, live happily ever after, the girl who relys on herself, gets, depending on the version I've read, eaten or chased away, never to be seen again.

Why are bears living in a cottage and eating porridge anyway? What's wrong with a cave? It sits wrong with me dear Goldilocks that you met a grizzly end...I prefer to think you kept the cottage and made yourself some nice rugs, it took a few attempts, but I'm guessing the last one was just right....

Yours sincerely,

Lost Property...

Dear Confidence,

This is just a short note to see how you are and more to the point where you have gone? It seems of late, I have mislaid you or you've done a runner and are presently heading to the hills, along with my ambition. I'm sure I had bags of you once, I'm sure you pushed me to do things, that had other people using a pulley system to lift their jaws off the ground. You and I were great companions, I remember the nights when enemies of ours, like self loathing and fear, tried to take me over and you struck them down, like you were swatting flies. I appear to keep their company these days far more than I care to and it makes me miss you.

I'd like to know when you left, I can't remember exactly, you didn't even leave a note, although there surely were signs. Every time I didn't do what I said I would and every time I accepted an invitation that I shouldn't, instead of getting on with the task at hand, I let you down, sooner or later, you ran out of patience and as a result, I lost you. I wonder what I could do to get you back? When I think about you, fear and self-loathing pop up on either shoulder, like two dark angels. Do you remember the old Bugs Bunny cartoons? I'm sure there was a good and bad angel on Bugs' shoulders, one of them, may even have had a harp. I've always loved the harp, so fabulous and so impractical, it's the Jimmy Choo of musical instruments. I'd like it if you turned up in a karate suit, we could take them on together, like we used to.

If, or when you decide to come back, please feel free to bring my ambition with you, although knowing what he's like, he'll make that decision by himself. In the meantime, I'll put the kettle on...

Yours sincerely,

Ex factor

Dear Ex,

Your new girlfriend looks like she was raised on findus crispy pancakes, close your mouth, we are not a codfish...

Yours sincerely,

I Second That Emoticon...

Dear Inventor of Emoticons,

I hate emoticons. I realise this is astonishingly rude of me to begin a letter to you in such harsh fashion, perhaps if a small yellow face, crying, were to appear at the end of the sentence, it would soften the blow? Then again, maybe not. Perhaps if I added one of these symbols to my communication, you would take it seriously because obviously use of the word hate, is not a clear enough indication of the depth of loathing I have inside me, for your stupid assortment of any emotion, one size fits all, yellow faces, that have infiltrated my phone and hi-jacked my Internet.

Your hideous faces have destroyed my friendship, more than the fact she slept with my boyfriend. They actually stop me forgiving people, no really they do, because there at the end of a heartfelt, beautifully written and well thought out apology which has eased my very soul, restored my faith in human nature and made me think everyone deserves a second chance, is a small winking face. An emoticon, to give it it's true title. This is followed by a series of sympathetic messages, from various friends, who have not slept with my boyfriend, but somehow felt the need to make me hate them also, with the addition of an assortment of smiling, winking, laughing, crying, angry discs and however many times you call them an emoticon, will never, ever register the true emotion of a hug, or a phone call, or a cup of coffee for that matter.

All they really do is diminish vocabulary and allow people to hide what they want to say, because after all it's cute and what's not to love about cute? I'm 40 minutes late, your waiting outside and it's snowing, but it's okay, because look, there's a smiling face on the end of my message. I'm sorry your dad died, but see how in touch with you I am? My emoticon is crying. I don't know if we're just friends or going to be lovers, so lets clear it up with a little winking man. You're pregnant and have no idea who the father is? Ooh my emoticon is surprised, just look at his mouth, would you just look at it? When there are no words, perhaps it is just better to say nothing....

Yours sincerely,