Friday, 1 June 2012

The One Where People Wrote Letters...

...into The Shropshire Star and I responded to them in my own unique and daft way.


Money can't buy me love The Beatles sang, but it can buy you football's Premier League title.

Everybody tells me so, Can't buy me love, No, no noooo

Join in everyone!

Manchester City have spent hundreds of millions of pounds over the last two years, more than the rest of the Premier League put together. 


But even then they needed the help of the referee on the last day of the season to beat a poor Manchester United side to the title by the smallest amount possible, goal difference.

I've not seen a single United supporter - of which I am one - blaming the referee in the City game up until now. Joey Barton thoroughly deserved to be sent off, simply for being Joey Barton.

City fans should make the most of it because when a team is made up of players who only come because of the huge wages and nothing else, they soon get fed up as we have seen with one or two of their players this season. The saddest thing for City fans is, even though they won the league, they are still the second best club in Manchester and will remain so for many years as they don't have the rich history behind them that United do.

About 10 years ago this would have been the wet dream of all letters for me, but now that I'm past the age of 15 I just find this all so thoroughly sad. As much as I disliked the events of the Premier League's final day, it was a fun season and I look forward to the two Manchester clubs battling it out again next season, and as much as I disliked the events of the Premier League's final day, it's only a game. Nobody died.

United were the better side overall


as they won more points against the rest of the league than City did. If United had won the two derby matches they would have finished 12 points ahead of City which proves the point.

If I...

Lived in London
Had loads of money
Was incredibly good looking
Owned a sports car
Was a professional athlete
Was the most charming and charismatic man on the planet
Was as intelligent and learned as a brain surgeon

then I could have sex with Kelly Brook! Yay! This is a fun game!

Here's another one for you - IF Jonny Evans hadn't been sent off in the first derby match, and IF Ferguson had started Antonio Valencia in the second derby match....well, who knows, but we can do the "If" bollocks all day long.

P.R. Jones

Those grapes are mighty sour!


A word now from the lovely Emyr Davies. I've typed up a few of Emyr's letters for this blog in the past, and I always enjoy reading them. Emyr is evidently an elderly chap who uses the letters page of The Shropshire Star to describe events/adventures that have taken place in his youth, and more power to his elbow, I say. The reason why I enjoy his letters is because - bless him - they rarely make much sense. However, rather than being cruel and laughing at him, I find his letters a welcome relief from all the xenophobia, homophobia, bigotry and religious nonsense which is usually printed on these pages, and long may his pen have ink in it.

During National Service with the RAF in 1951, I was walking through Shrewsbury late in the evening when all of a sudden two Military Police (Red Caps) men (lance corporals) jumped out on me from the shadows. Fear set in for a few minutes as one Red Cap accused me of 'walking like an old farmer.'

All of a sudden two civilians in trilbies emerged. One stated: "Are these so-and-sos causing you trouble, mate?"

The Red Caps let me go. "Take care," one said.

I have often wondered were those two civilians really sergeants or colour sergeants in the Military Police or just civilians who had done National Service like me?

It's true, I stoop a little through reading a good bit, and have bought a brace to help my posture but it would be nice to see the Red Caps back on Britain's streets again! Our bobbies need help and during 1939-45 there were Army, Navy and RAF police around, plus those big American Red Caps, too, some black men with truncheons.

Slightly surprising end to that one, Emyr!

Mr Emyr Davies

D'aww, I love Emyr, and wish he was my Granddad. Like I said, he's a tonic when compared to all the other letters about the EU, "the immigrants", Tony Blair and the TV programme 'Crossroads'.

Of course, that last one is just me having a laugh. Nobody has ever penned a letter to The Shropshire Star about 'Crossroads', obviously, and I doubt anyone ever will.


I feel compelled to write in reaction to Ben Bentley's review of the programme 'Unforgettable Noele Gordon.'

Unforgettable, isn't he? I thought that 'House Party' was juvenile nonsense and obviously 'Deal or No Deal' is just randomness and luck, but I do like that programme where he gives Christmas presents to sick kids. What a nice man!

Proof-reader: "That's Noel Edmonds."
Me: "So it is. Who the FRICK is Noele Gordon then?"
Proof-reader: "Dunno. Apparently she's unforgettable though."

I am angry at the disrespectful and misinformed way he described Miss Gordon's Crossroads.

Of all the things to be angry about, this is right up there.

The programme was not pantomime. The sets only wobbled in the very early days, alongside those of Coronation Street. And to say it made Neighbours look like a million-dollar Spielberg production was absolutely ridiculous.

I hope this guy signs up to Football365 Forum one day and writes stuff like this. He'll be absolutely buried in the avalanche of "He's seething!" replies he'd get.

It's true though. This guy is properly seething, or #seething if you like Twitter and hashtags and all of that nonsense.

Crossroads was at times inspiring, sometimes very moving, and a great comfort to the elderly, and those living on their own, who regarded Meg Richardson as their friend.

This is all rather odd, isn't it?

Crossroads and Noele Gordon are still missed by a great many people. How dare anyone criticise either of them?

Bob Oakley

I happen to think Crossroads was a load of ol' shite, Bobby boy. What you gonna do? You come at the King, you best not miss!


One final letter for now, this one coming from the master of short, snappy nonsense Allan Tucker from Oswestry!

After the President of France Francois Hollande's first cabinet, we still dont know his attitude to nuclear weapons, nor to nuclear power.

Allan Tucker

I started compiling a list of other irrelevant things we don't know Francois Hollande's opinions on yet but I got bored after the 784th thing and so deleted it. Instead let me take this moment to phone the new French President and congratulate him on his election!

(picks up phone, presses an unnecessary amount of buttons very quickly)

President of France Francois Hollande (PoFFH): "Allo?"

Ewar: "Bonjour Monsieur Hollande! Je m'appelle votre ami Ewar!"

(I don't know French but Google Translate tells me that's right)

PoFFH: "Who?"

(I've given up on the French)

Ewar: "I know you are very busy sir but I wanted to ask you about your preference when it comes to biscuits!"

PofFH: "Who iz theeez? 'Ow did you get theeez number?"

Ewar: "I like chocolate hobnobs, particularly with a cup of tea, but I also like custard creams. You?"

PoFFH: "I do not have ze time for this inane chatter, be off with you!"

Ewar: "Alright, fine. One final thing, sorry - you don't happen to know who Noele Gordon is, do you?"

(Phone gets slammed down)

What a nice man.

Until next time bloggerheads!

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