For Competition 3440 you were invited to supply a diplomatic thank-you letter for an unwanted gift. According to a recent poll, a fifth of people have been given a present they don’t like (Marmite-scented deodorant, anyone?) with many admitting to feigning gratitude if not delight. It helps, of course, if the giver of the gift is not present for the unveiling, but this still leaves the thorny issue of a thank-you letter. Which is where you come in.
The entry was a masterclass in tact. Commendations to Harriet Elvin, Alan Millard, Richard Wyndham and Sue Pickard. The £25 John Lewis vouchers go to the winners below.
My dear Crispin,
Thank you so much for your so apposite present. You have obviously thought long and hard in choosing something that I should find particularly useful, and after observing my laden wine racks correctly deduced that I would benefit from a corkscrew. Your present is a valuable addition to my ever-growing collection, and I am now able to dedicate individual corkscrews not only to the colour and style of particular wines, but to the country and even the terroir. I shall have to consider carefully the correct vintage with which to christen your valued contribution.
As they say in the land whence flow so many great wines and grands crus, please believe in the assurance of my distinguished sentiments.
Ever yours, Eustace
Ralph Bateman
Dear Auntie Gladys and Ron
Thank you for your unexpected gift – a road atlas! Wonderful. I recall when the AA used to hand these out to members, gratis, but after a year or two they all disappeared, so where you sourced this one, and such a vintage example, I cannot begin to imagine. As you know, D and I always like to ‘know where we are’ when off travelling with the SUV, and it is such fun, especially when the navigator, to get a sense of where we would have been in 1965 as well! Such history, such patina, such personality – the foxing seems to tell a million stories, and all we have to do, thanks to you, is to write them. Lay-bys are not the same any more, and as for the satnav’s bossy ‘voice in the head’ – well, we can now tell her exactly where to go!
Bill Greenwell
Dearest Anne,
Thank you so much for my splendid birthday jumper – all the more precious for being crafted by your fair hand. And so clever of you to match black, brown, lavender, and that unusual shade of … puce, do we call it? How shrewdly you assessed my size! It seems I must have lost a considerable amount of weight lately, but it being winter wear there’ll be plenty of layers underneath, and if the sleeves are a fraction long, well, no need for gloves! I see myself moving easily among the beau monde, finally having apparel that is fashionably shapeless – so à la mode. Do forgive this outburst of French, but there is something distinctly Gallic about the jumper (it is a jumper, isn’t it?) – and not just the smell. Darling sister, merci – my gratitude is equalled only by my astonishment about the feat you have so spectacularly pulled off. Yours ever, Andrew
Simon Godziek
Oh thank you! Your amazing gift has united our family in a sense of wonder. None of us has touched it since it arrived: it sits on the mantelpiece, glaring down at us. My eye is drawn to it constantly, as strange and novel images invade my mind. It has become the talk of the village. We tell them it’s foreign, and suggest that they maintain a respectful distance. Their reactions range from prolonged blinking to fervent prayer.
I must compliment you on your sensitivity to me, in particular. How could you have known that my life lacked this precise configuration of colour and authority? You saw this object and thought: ‘Ah, the Watsons!’ I admire that confidence, staking a friendship so entirely on taste.
Finally, I must ask you, only for insurance purposes: What is it?
Ralph Goldswain
My dear Sebastian, thank you so much for the copy of your latest book, of which you must be very proud – did it really take you 12 years? Gosh! I am as usual very busy running the business and looking after the family, but I shall certainly find time to immerse myself in it before too long. Spending so much time as I do in the world of everyday work, it will I’m sure do me an enormous amount of good to learn about something that is completely outside my usual sphere of interests, and I know it will be a joy finding out all about late-19th-century church architecture in the Baltic states. I see that you have illustrated it with your own black and white photographs, with that lovely retro grainy feel about them, which really conveys the feel of rainy Sundays in Kaunas or Riga! So atmospheric…
Brian Murdoch
My dear Lavinia,
How thrilled Crispian and I were to receive your generous gift of day-passes (I think that is right?) to the Alton Towers amusement park.
Your late mother and I always exchanged volumes of verse as birthday gifts, so what an exciting departure! And such spirited recommendations! Crispian once lunched with Wilfred Thesiger during his RGS days and hence leans towards the Katanga Mine Train, although we are a little cautious about his prolapsed discs. As a devotee of the detective fiction of Dorothy L. Sayers, it must be the Curse of Alton Manor for me, where doubtless a spirited Whodunnit awaits! We note your enthusiasm for Oblivion but frankly, my dear, we will be there soon enough without mechanical assistance.
Crispian reminds me that your generosity extends even unto Inferno Pizza vouchers. We will put a bottle of correspondingly vigorous Chianti in the hamper! Your affectionate godmother.
Nick Syrett
No. 3443: Punning wild
She blew her fusilli,
my pretty penne,
when she found me watching
daytime tagliatelle.
So begins Brian Bilston’s poem ‘Remembrance of Things Pasta’. You are invited to submit a poem that contains repeated wordplay on a particular theme (16 lines maximum). Please email entries to competition@spectator.co.uk by 25 March.
Comments