Letter to: 'Neil Oliver, Scottish/long hair/loves cliffs/stands staring into middle distance on rocks'
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| 'On Beeny Cliff' |
Having learned that even letters address as generically as 'Neil Oliver, Scotland' reach TV's smouldering archaeologist, the Ragged Ramblers saw an opportunity to put pen to paper and here's the result:
Addressed to 'Neil Oliver, Scottish/long hair/loves cliffs/stands staring into middle distance on rocks'
"Dear Mr. Oliver,
I like your long hair. I like the way it flaps in the wind on Coast, wild and free, flapping like you are a Hardy hero brooding on Beeny Cliff. My son, Timotei, grows his hairs in the long fashion too, fresh and strong. Have you ever caught your hair in an extractor fan? Timotei has! He climbed up on our avocado bath and - whoosh - that was it...
All those years ago when you used to stand in a trench with some other man, I sensed that you yearned for so much more. It pleases me that you dig the old still and are Scotland... but not the independence. Your hair is much more that television’s Alice Roberts - public science understanding and all that! Do you prefer the traces left by long-dead humans to the living detritus we are forced to endure time alongside? (I am a scarcely sentient water-bag.)
My mother is 86 now and when I mention you she snarls, ‘Miserable cunt!’, but, rest assured Mr Oliver, I always threaten to smother the dotty old bat with a pillow if she potty-mouths you - and then she desists. She is angry with you because she believes that you dug a trench and buried, ‘that nice Nicholas Crane’ in it. She also says that archaeologists befuddle the public with gloves and ‘ritual’ when they really don’t have a clue about the purpose or meaning of an artefact - that’s mother for you!
Yours sincerely,
Lambert Mundesley"
Ha ha! My sentiments exactly. Never trust a man who pretends to enjoy eating rotten shark to a fake Viking restauranteur was always my mother's motto, and she called a cunt a cunt.
ReplyDeleteSorry, I meant Cnut. I am not a bad person really.
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DeleteMr Oh Liver appears now to be the spokesperson on all things Skottish, where independence has a jolly with independent thinkers. His plummy posh tones betray a fool of the educated variety; he likens to think his coffuired barnet and face whiskers resemble a bad man in an even badder movie about skots people. Alas, he's too much prettie boy to wield a claymore, preferring his distressed shoes of brogue and his cavalry twill garments to save the skots kuntry from the tyranny of imposed nationalist evils...
ReplyDeleteSome see Mr oh liver as the rugged face of a Utopian skotslaands. Mr kneel Oh liver this way thinks too, perhaps. A fossilised Mr Ollie Kneel would be a splendid find neath the soil of Glencoe.
To boldly go and all that....
El quin
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Mary you crazy (and between you and I and most people in West Africa) dirty cunt why are you posting this here again? Most people do not realize that Dr Itua as an ancient alien who has cures for all human diseases, but chooses to only tell crazy cunts who spam unprotected blogs. Mary, please inform Dr Itua that enough is enough and to brave the anal probes and to come forward with the cures for everyone, not just crazy fuckers like you. Also, please stop sending me pictures of you dirty fanny.
ReplyDelete