An actor
Dear Tom Davey, RSC member, actor, thesp, luvvie, resident of Hackney.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry Tom that we share very similar email addresses - despite not being related to our actual names.

I'm sorry I get a lot of your emails, and I'm sorry that when I forward them on to that you dont ever thank me.

I'm sorry you did Hamlet (or Macbeth) with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart.

I'm sorry that your assistant director - and ex girlfriend of Dr Who I'll add - mails me your call sheets instead of you. I'm further sorry that they also include the email addresses, and phone numbers of the other cast members. And the details of their drivers, their mobile numbers and times and locations to pick everyone up for "shoots".

I'm sorry that I inadvertently redirected Patrick Stewart & David Tennants drivers to pick you up from Soho, at 5pm, on a friday, when they should have picked you up from Stanstead.

I'm sorry it had to come to that.

Also, that new central heating boiler you had installed? They threatened you with bailiffs so I told them, and I quote, "Keep your fucking boiler, I'm not paying. You can come and rip it out of the house - even if you have to kick the fucking doors down. I'm not giving you a penny."

I hope you have a jumper.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:21, 4 replies)

I suppose this is cheating really
but it works for Portugal so it can work for me

Back in my Uni days I was in one of those long-distance relationship things. All the rage back then. Alright that's bollocks, most of the people I met in my first year who were attempting to remain faithful to partners at the other end of the country could measure the length of their fidelity in beer rather than days or weeks. Not me though. I didn't sleep with a single woman I met in the entire time I was at University. You may be thinking that this makes me a dick. And, with hindsight, you'd be right.

One of the strangest things about long-term fidelity, especially in the sex orgy-esque environment of higher education, is that whilst your mates are calling you a twat for not taking a crack at Sophie the 6'2" Swedish blonde who drunkenly let on she was up for it (yes she was real, and if she's reading this, sorry love, missed yer window. Not really. My place. Now), all your female friends think this is a fantastic quality. To the extent that, in my case at least, a few of them will develop sufficient affection for you as to try and surgically remove this allegedly strong characteristic. With shagging.

So it was that I came to enter into a real double-edged sword of a friendship with a girl called Heather, which presumably would be par for the course in a marriage between professional ninjas (as long as one or both of them was called Heather), but which I found an almighty headfuck. My fiancee was 60 miles away and I saw her at weekends for a ritualistic 48 hours of old-before-our-time contentedness. The other 5 days of the week I was hanging out with Heather as much as I could, and not missing the missus overly much.

At this point one of my gothy friends (rookie mistake) suggested I "write myself a letter" illustrating how I feel about both girls.

In the words of a well-known* Australian cartoonist and animal health enthusiast, "That was really fucking stupid advice".

What was even more stupid was committing to paper my angsty (Emo hadn't been invented yet, we only had angst back then. And coal), over-wrought deliberations on my conflicting emotions and all that bollocks.

With hindsight, jotting down in fuck-off black letters "I'M IN LOVE WITH HEATHER" - just to see how it made me feel (FFS) - was a particular nadir of judgement.

But this QOTW is about "Letters they'll never read", right? So, in order to conform to the structure of the question as all we good B3tans always do, nothing bad could ever have come of it. My (now-)ex and Heather would never suffer the confusion, disappointment, heartbreak or sheer unbridled horror (delete as applicable) implied by my pathetic teenage scribblings.

But that wouldn't be a very good end to the story, would it?

Hence, "Cheating"^



*Not well-known. Fictional.
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:20, Reply)

Dear Winona Ryder,
Please stop aging immediately.

If you promise me this, I promise I will marry you and never be unfaithful.

With love,

A Vagabond.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:14, 3 replies)

Gary The IT Guy....
Gary,

Your a lazy, good for nothing, pizza faced, fat, loud, half-bald, single brain celled CUNT


Touch my PC again and ill chop your FUCKINGg arms off and beat you to death with them.....

Did i mention your a CUNT....?

XX
(phils1969, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:10, 6 replies)

Dear Vincent Cassel,
Do you have Monica's 'phone number please?
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:07, Reply)

Lagos, Nigeria.
Attention: Martin Lewis, MoneySavingExpert.co.uk

Dear Martin Lewis,

Confidential Business Proposal

Having consulted with my colleagues and based on the information gathered from the Nigerian Chambers Of Commerce And Industry, I have the privilege to request your assistance to transfer the sum of $47,500,000.00 (forty seven million, five hundred thousand United States dollars) into your accounts. The above sum resulted from an over-invoiced contract, executed, commissioned and paid for about five years (5) ago by a foreign contractor. This action was however intentional and since then the fund has been in a suspense account at The Central Bank Of Nigeria Apex Bank.

We are now ready to transfer the fund overseas and that is where you come in. It is important to inform you that as civil servants, we are forbidden to operate a foreign account; that is why we require your assistance. The total sum will be shared as follows: 70% for us, 25% for you and 5% for local and international expenses incidental to the transfer.

The transfer is risk free on both sides. I am an accountant with the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC). If you find this proposal acceptable, we shall require the following documents:

(a) your banker's name, telephone, account and fax numbers.

(b) your private telephone and fax numbers —for confidentiality and easy communication.

(c) your letter-headed paper stamped and signed.

Alternatively we will furnish you with the text of what to type into your letter-headed paper, along with a breakdown explaining, comprehensively what we require of you. The business will take us thirty (30) working days to accomplish.

Please reply urgently.

Best regards

Howgul Abul Arhu
(FUXTIX Not my words, Carol, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:05, Reply)

Dear Westminster
After your expenses scams paid for in its entirety by the British taxpayer failed, I find it extremely ironic and frustrating that you have decided to give yourselves yet another pay rise this year.

And then you wonder why people accuse you of being out of touch with reality? Then you wonder why people refuse to vote?

It's very simple. It's because you're a bunch of two-faced hypocrits that has had far too much of a good thing for far too long.

Please don't even try and justify your unneccassary perks, unneccessary bonus, and unreasonable wage increases by donating it to charity.

You see, when you do this, it is ultimately us, the honest British tax payers who ends up footing the bill for your "generous" donations.

You're ridiculous policies over the years have successfully destroyed communities, industries and the very essence of what once made Britain the industrial powerhouse that it was.

In order to help the country, why not take a leaf out of the book of the millions of civil servants and private sector businesses and follow suit.

I suggest part-time working, pay cuts just for starters. But it might, just might, help you to understand why we, the people of this country are increasing annoyed by the goings on in our so-called democracy.

The sad truth is that you may as well be based on Mars, given how out of step you are with the honest hard working and downright fed up electorate.

Stop paying out money that you don't have, stop making promises that you can't keep and Start giving power back to the people.

No, this doesn't actually mean a whole host of consultancies, quangos and yet more layers of micromanagement. It means actually working in the interests of the country.

You are spending MY money on things I don't want, don't need and don't see the point of.

If I wanted someone to do that for me, I would find myself a wife.
(libraryboy Cheer up, you could be french!, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 12:04, 8 replies)

Dear Wife's teenage pants
I sniff you.

Love me.
(waxdart hello., Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:54, 2 replies)

Dear person who sits near me,
You're not black. Not even remotely. Please stop, it's really very annoying having to listen to you "rapping" like that.

My telling you, quite frankly, that you're a bell end for doing it really shouldn't be met with a laugh and a stream of yoof slang I don't even pretend to understand.

You're a very white, very middle class 30 year old and people aren't laughing with you, really, they're not.

Please try to act in a manner that befits an open plan office, everyone else here manages it quite easily.

Kind regards,

Moey.
( Moey, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:35, 12 replies)

Dear Imutu Belazi
On recieveing you sad correspondence in regards to your ill grandfather, I felt comelled to help you in your sad time. It appears that I am in a position to help you and I have an active bank account in the UK that could easily be used to transfer the funds your grandfather has, I am not sure how much 10,000 ugandan dollars is but just helping you out is enough for me. I enclose my details so that you can transfer the funds immediately. This almost seems to good to be true but I have trust and faith in you because of your well crafted and gramatically correct e-mail.

Your faithfully

Mr Mug
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:28, 1 reply)

To the customers.
Just fuck off with your stupid, idiotic requests. No, I will not just "copy this other person's advert” because it “looks nice".

No, I can't print a 100px by 50px logo on an A3 advert and have it "all huge and stuff".

No, I do not accept images to be used within creatives as word or publisher files, and no, they are not “better that way” no matter how many people on your desk say it is.

Making me re-do any creatives 100 times with variations where the strap line has to be moved up/down 3 pixels, or have decided to completely change the text, only to go back to the original gets REALLY old very quickly. PLEASE STOP IT. I appreciate your need to get it "just right", but there is being constructive, and then trying to stamp your foot to show your authority.

Supplying 1000 word essay for a 160px by 120px web banner is bloody stupid. When I say it won't work, don't get arsy with me. What is even worse is when you start complaining when I give in and show you what happens when you put that much text in that small a space. 160px by 120px is 160px by 120px, it is not a whole web page, morons.

If advertising guidelines say you can't make certain unsubstantiated claims, YOU CAN'T USE THEM. Get over it.

If you hire a designer or agency to produce creatives, LISTEN TO THEM! Most of them have a good idea what works and what doesn't. Why pay all that money for their skills and advice, only to say "fuck it, I want a magenta and green monstrosity of an advert with illegible text"?



In fact, being a designer would be so much easier if I didn't have any clients at all.

I think I'll go sign on in the morning.
( theoriginalsteve <this space intentionally left blank>, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:25, 8 replies)

Dear David Milliband,

I can't describe how you make me feel. We've got so much in common with each other. Just because I'm an older woman doesn't mean I don't have fantasies about you taking me on a United Nations desk, while you whisper about climate change and saving the world in my ear. In fact all it means is that I've got experience that will send you floating on a tide of ectascy that only a Labour win in June could equal. I'd let you do what you want to me, and who cares about my husband? He hasn't been up to it in years. That picture of you with the banana meant I had to spend an hour in my office with a locked door, wishing that Obama would stop phoning and suggesting a joint press conference. See my devotion?`

Yours with love

Hillary Clinton
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:14, 2 replies)

Dear My Tutor's Daughter,
Hi, You may know me,infact I've made you laugh before. I'm the dumpy bird who dresses like a jumble sale.
I think you're hot.
I would like to do things to you..
If that's okay.
Sadly you'll be going off to Leeds University in September and I'm too scared to talk to you.
Even if you did talk to me, I'd probably just dribble all over your kitten heels.

I just really would like very much to see you naked.

Oh well..
Sorry..

Yours
T_A
x
(Tangerine_Avenger, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:13, Reply)

Dear Jim
Find enclosed a broken watch.
Please could you fix it?
Ta,
J Bontempi
( jonbontempi, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:09, 1 reply)

Dear Mr.Remote Control for my Sky HD Box,
Where the fuck are you? Seriously, it's not funny! I saw you in the babies hand on Thursday morning and since then...nothing!

It's gone beyond a joke, I've checked everywhere. Last night I turned into the sofa-vet spending 30 minutes with my hand rammed down the back of the sofa. I've gone through the babies play pen, laundry basket and looked on every flat surface in the house. I've even checked the washing machine drum and the bottom of the dishwasher! Where the bloody hell have you gone?

If i have to spend another night crouched down at the sky box with the wife shouting 'up another channel, no you moron that's two channels...oh for fuck sake, just put on a DVD this is pointless', I will probably beat her to death and then kill myself.

Come back to us, I really really miss you.


Sneep
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 11:07, 7 replies)

To my kittens Bill and Ted
I know you can't understand me but I will continue to tell you how much I love you and prove it by looking after you both as best I can. And I will also help you look after your kittens when you pop Ted, you little cat-slut. Even if they come out ginger.

Lots of love, tinywiener.
( bland is bland, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:59, 5 replies)

Dear Yellow Teddy
You were my favourite toy as a child, then you mysteriously disappeared, along with all the photos of my family, and my mother's heirlooms, and any evidence whatsoever of times before when my stepmother turned up.

Oh where are you now, Yellow Teddy?

Lots of love,

A Vagabond
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:49, 2 replies)

Dear Charmaine
You and I were best friends.
We went through so much together and without each other being there life would have been so much harder.
Then one day you just walked past my front door and that was it. Without a word of explanation you have never spoken to me again.
I would just like to know why please.
Whiskas
(whiskas loved by 8 out of 10 cats, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:47, Reply)

Dear Mr Blunkett
lsnlgnlgne;m vg wgkrw; m 'wk'wm;emg;
fnlgnegn f;n,nnbbn roeos ewoeld tr'g
mg;emg;mg ewgmeg[mg posv v dw wss
( Derek Monte subthread killer: qu'est-ce que c'est, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:39, 1 reply)

Dear Sergei...
There's quite a story to this.

Years ago, I studied Russian at GCSE. A penfriend scheme was suggested as a means of honing the linguistic skills of the class – there weren't all that many of us – and my penfriend was Sergei.

This being the early 1990s, Russia was in a state of collapse, and this meant that the post was very slow indeed. Moreover, my Russian was never great, and neither was his English. This did not bode well for our correspondence. Nevertheless, we persevered; every few months, a letter would make it through the post in which each of us tried, falteringly, to say something interesting in the other's language.

I took the GCSE in 1993, which meant that, by the July of that year, I expected never to have to use the language again. But later that year, it was suggested that a school trip to Moscow and St Petersburg would be a good idea; I, the rest of my GCSE cohort, and my brother were offered the chance to tag along. We jumped at the chance.

I figured that, since I'd be in Moscow, it'd be a nice idea to get in touch with Sergei with a view to meeting him. From his letters, I knew not only his surname and address, but also his patronymic - and this meant I had a reasonable shot at finding his telephone number. With that information, I rang international directory inquiries, gave them his details and his postcode, and hoped. They came up trumps, and provided me with a telephone number.

I rehearsed what I would say for days, and rang.

I got a line.

Someone answered. He sounded my age. Was that Sergei, I asked? No. But the person on the other end told me to wait.

I heard footsteps, as if they were going up stairs. I heard a knock on a door, and muffled voices. In a flash, it occurred to me that I had rung the one communal telephone in a block of flats. More footsteps. A voice.

Sergei!

We talked. I told him of the travel plans, and what hotel we would use. In fractured Russian, we agreed a plan.
~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of months later, at Easter 1994, we were in Moscow. In anticipation of the visit, my brother and I had filled our baggage allowance with gifts and things that we had heard were unobtainable in Russia. Looking around the city, this was believable; on the streetcorners, Babushki were selling all manner of possessions to earn a crust.

There was a telephone in the hotel room, and I rang Segei's number again in the hope of arranging a rendezvous. There was no reply. Over the next couple of days, I rang two or three times more; still nothing. Eventually, we had to leave to get the sleeper to St Petersburg. We left Moscow with still-bulging bags, having failed to meet my penfriend; we were disappointed, but we had tried earnestly, and there was nothing we could do.
~~~~~~~~~~

A letter arrived with a Moscow postmark a couple of months later.

I couldn’t read it all. Not because of the linguistic gap, but because the message was all too clear, and it’s burned on my consciousness.
“Dear Enzyme
“I had a telephone call from someone who said he was my English friend. He said that he would be in Moscow on the 1st April. In Russia, we play tricks on each other at the beginning of April. Do you do the same in England?”

It was at that point I stopped reading. Sergei had gone to the hotel the day we left, which happened to be April Fool’s Day, and had asked if someone with my name was staying. Because the rooms were booked under the school’s name, the person behind the desk hadn’t been able to help. He had assumed that the whole thing was a very elaborate practical joke…

Sergei – the chances that you’re reading this are very slim indeed. But I am truly, truly sorry. There’s quite a lot I’ve done over the years that I regret, but, of all my errors, I still count this as the one that burns.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:29, 3 replies)

Dear Couriers
Depsite the recession, most people still have jobs. The vast majority of these people are not sitting around at home from 7am to 7pm with their cocks in their hands waiting for you to turn up.

You WILL be sorry I wasn't home, you bastards.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:11, 3 replies)

Ahem
Dear soldier at checkpoint who’s name I cannot remember

Firstly I must apologise for forgetting your name I really should remembered it due to the interrogation you gave me, but meh. I would like to write this letter and apologise to you. I will admit that I was lying to you. I have done a few bad things in my time but for some reason I felt a twinge of guilt when I think about you. I hope that this will not bugger up your promotion prospects or anything but you were right, they were the droids you were looking for.

Love

O
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:10, 3 replies)

I once sent this to GMTV...
...although I guess it may have been read, it was never responded to:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I am writing to express my concern at your interview with Kim Metcalf, broadcast on GMTV at around 8.20am on Wednesday 6 October 2004.

The main cause of the interview seemed worthy enough, to promote the charitable programme to sponsor a child in Africa. While I applaud the cause, I cannot help but think that there are more worthy role models than the aforementioned Kim Metcalf.

Although I am sure that her heart is in the right place, I am not so certain that the same could be said of her brain. I could provide many examples of her insensitivity to the issues at hand, but I will focus on just one - taking a Frisbee ™ along as a gift for her sponsored child.

Does she not see the potential for psychological harm in providing such a gift. After all, do we not primarily view Frisbees ™ as ‘Beach Toys’. We all love taking our Frisbee ™ to the coast on a sunny day. At the very least we play such games in a park, normally one with a lake or duck pond contained within it. Ms Metcalf herself had only just stressed the value of the sponsorship programme in allowing irrigation projects to take place in the under watered villages. And then she takes a Frisbee ™ as a present. I am staggered by the insensitivity. Surely it would serve only to remind the child of the unfortunate paucity of suitable water based play areas in his or her neighbourhood?

As if this were not enough, Ms Metcalf then proceeded to suggest that sponsoring a child would make an ideal gift for a loved one this Christmas. Not only did Ms Metcalf suggest this, which I suppose given her previously highlighted insensitivity, I probably should have expected, but then to compound my horror both of your shows hosts, Eamonn Holmes and Fiona Phillips, seemed to endorse this view. These are people have the utmost in admiration and respect for under normal circumstances and who normally seem so sensible and well balanced. I hope I am wrong, but if other people respect these individuals as highly as I do, we may now witness a rash of well meaning people deciding to sponsor a child in time for the winter season. Sir (or Madam), I implore you to hastily put out a retraction to this irresponsible statement. As we all must be aware in this day and age, a child is for life, not just for Christmas.

Obviously, I write to you purely out of concern for the reputation of your programme and the worthy cause you have chosen to promote and I certainly do not mean to doubt Ms Metcalfs motivation, as I am sure she is not shallow enough to be taking part in this publicity drive just to improve her own image among those that see her as nothing but publicity seeking tabloid gossip magazine fodder.

I thank you for your time. Needless to say this whole event has caused me a great deal of emotional discomfort and trauma today and I trust you will see fit to compensate me for this turmoil. I would happily accept a child sponsored on my behalf as full and final compensation. I would like to call him Hank.

Yours sincerely

Mr xxxxxxxxxxx
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 10:09, 1 reply)

Dear Me,
You are a tit when you are drunk. You push your own boundaries in crass stupidity further and further when you get the taste for alcohol. You are often found talking when you should be listening. In the morning, you always wish you had a time machine so you can erase your past hours.

Generally, alcholol makes you look and feel like a cunt. I would adivise you to print this and keep it where you can see it, but I know you won't.

See you around.

Me.

P.s. Love you, you big wanker.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:55, 3 replies)

Dear Dad...
I am finding it hard to write this, as I really miss you.
We spent so long together, it's weird not having you around.

The memories are hard to forget. The games we played. The way you would always look after me and cook for me. The way you said you loved me. Even the drugs you used to get for me ;)

As you know, I didnt have many friends as a child and there were, of course, times that I wished you hadn't grounded me so much, but I think because of that, I appreciate the outdoors that little bit more.

My one regret would be that for my 21st, you didn't give me the "key to the door" that I had heard so much about.

All my love as always,

Elisabeth Fritzel
(FUXTIX Not my words, Carol, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:53, 3 replies)

Hey bitch...
Texting the cunt you met at your office party 600 fucking times in two weeks, promising to meet him when he gets back off holiday and declaring your undying love for him whilst hinting that you would like one day to have your third child by him when our youngest is barely 6 months old.

IS FUCKING CHEATING

So that's why I left before you got chance to consumate your affair, and good riddance too. I'd rather be a part time father than a full time doorstep so fuck off.

But I'm not bitter.
(Doogie Talons, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:41, 13 replies)

To my unborn child,
You will not be allowed access to the internet until you're 18.

Tough. I don't care what 'the other kids are doing'.

Love,

Dad.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:28, 16 replies)

Dear old people,

You have all day to do your shit, so please stop clogging up the fucking Post Office queue at lunchtime.

Thank you.x
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:21, 7 replies)

Dear Alcohol
Fuck you for: -

Getting hold of me during my depression and stealing almost everything away from me including the best woman I have ever had, my job, my money, and my friends and family.

You're not welcome here any more.

The End

G
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:17, 1 reply)

Dear Maddie
We miss you lots!

Love you lots,

Mum and Dad
(Anne Frank started to build a loft conversion on, Fri 5 Mar 2010, 9:07, 15 replies)