Dear Insurance industry (you Bunch of Thieving Bastards)
The way I see it, the raison d’etre of you guys is this: If something bad happens to me, something bad happens to you. It’s that simple. That’s what we pay you for. Shouldn’t you spend more time ensuring that nothing bad ever happens to me, rather than messing about with your terms and conditions in order to try and ensure that even if something bad happens to me, absolutely nothing bad ever happens to you?
Kind regards
Wittering Sara
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Dear everyone who ever applied for a job as a traffic warden
What were you thinking? Executioners in the 17th century had more friends.
Kind regards
Wittering Sara
PS Being a traffic warden does not make you a member of the constabulary. Not really. They’re all laughing at you behind your backs too.
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Dear people with medical qualifications
Exactly which one of the no doubt hundreds of text books you have had to wade through during the process of you gaining your medical qualification taught you that the words “this will sting a little” was a good way to mitigate pain? Clearly you are intelligent people. Did you not imagine that we (the recipients) might see through this bare-faced lie eventually, ie when we actually have been on the receiving end of the “little sting”?
And another thing. Any medical person who is either female and childless or male, no matter how much cleverer than me he or she is, is not qualified to tell me that breast-feeding “doesn’t hurt at all”. It doesn’t hurt about as much as sinking a sodding great needle into any particularly sensitive area of living tissue doesn’t hurt. Of course it flipping well hurts.
Kind regards
Wittering Sara
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Dear traffic cops
What were you thinking? Traffic wardens have more friends.
Kind regards
Wittering Sara
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Dear Great British public
Remind me again. Did we seriously just vote a dog to perform in front of the Queen at the Royal Variety Performance and to win £500k? Did we? Rather than a boys’ choir, a 17 year old opera singer and an 11-year old girl, all of whom sang like angels and made the hairs stand up on the backs of our collective necks? Did we? I thought so. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love dogs, and Pudsey is a very sweet, very clever dog. But what on earth is Pudsey going to do with £500k? A gold kennel? A diamond-studded collar? A bequest to the Battersea Dogs’ Home? Caviar-filled dog biscuits? Or will that £500k actually end up buying Pudsey’s owner a Gucci handbag and a round the world holiday whilst Pudsey is sent to a dog boarding kennel? I’m just saying.
Kind regards
Wittering Sara
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*snickergiggles*
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