While working for a while as the sales manager of
(probably) the last CDR manufacturer in the UK (yes, this was a looong time ago), we were having a bit of a tough time in the final days, after the Taiwanese dumped about 3 billion CDRs on the UK market for less than it cost us to make them. We therefore took on a few extra jobs to pay the bills, one of which was putting a tranche of the latest U2 CD in jewel cases, with all the inserts, promo stickers and cellophane, and boxing them up for distribution. The whole factory got involved with this, as we had agreed to do it to a VERY tight deadline.
Not being very good at mindless tedium, I decided to amuse myself by casually autographing one or two of the discs, before they went into the cases. Nothing fancy, just things like "Enjoy! Bono", and "All the best, Bono".
So, I would like to humbly apologise to any excited little U2 fans (particularly if they are big, scary, violent, baseball-bat-wielding little U2 fans) who thought they had got their hands on something unique, personal and special, especially if they showed them off to their U2-loving friends, and especially especially if their friends were slightly skeptical about the idea of Bono standing in the CD production line with a magic marker, in a completely unpublicised publicity stunt, and therefore extracted the piss by the gallon. Sorry.
Also, apologies for length (slightly less than 119mm).
( blyerkit e k trilby, Sun 20 Jan 2013, 10:35, 6 replies)

Teacher
At primary school I had an odd teacher who, if you did something wrong, would make you write a letter of apology to him. If it was really bad, you'd have to write several letters of apology.

I was new to the school and didn't really understand the point of this.(still don't really). Anyway, I did something wrong and was told to write five letters of apology.

So, not understanding, I wrote "S O R R Y"

He went batshit while I stood there wondering what the fuck was going on. 'But you said five letters! There are five letters!'
(inflateable, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 18:00, 1 reply)

Sorry for making you think your life was over
Some people who deserve an apology: I caused them to believe they were about to die, quite badly. They weren't - and it was unintentional - but must have taken its mental toll.

I grew up in a medium to large town in the Chilterns - a town made entirely of glacial hills and valleys. One day some friends and I noticed that the weird grated outflow into the canal lined up perfectly with several large manholes placed along the route to our school. Much investigation - and recourse to the local reference library - showed that a river once existed along that axis but was no longer to be found.

It had been quite literally buried into a large underground pipe travelling nearly 3 miles across town and directly under our school. Subtle investigation found a few manholes that could be lifted and we used a car jack to widen the grille at the bottom end so we could get out, and began exploring an underground world using skateboards , torches and candles (the later in the chambers under manhole covers). We could travel several miles up and down the tunnel and go down some fairly tight off-cuts to rise up out of the ground in several places including, helpfully, in our own school grounds.

It was very useful as a way of quickly leaving grounds without using the gate or jumping the fence.

One day we were rolling along downhill when we realised beyond the usual gurgles of the water below and insane echoes off the concrete lining from our skateboard wheels, we could hear something ahead. People swearing and scurrying

It was a british waterways maintenance team. From their perspective, having entered through one of the more public manholes then tracked upstream for half a mile to inspect the tunnel (we assume) they thought they were alone. Then we pelted down the tunnel at them on rubber wheels, out of the darkness

They thought we were an oncoming flash flood and were crawling very fast but clearly aware they wouldnt have been able to get to the exit before we got to them.

Their reaction was a mix of shock, anger and relief. we reversed course, retreated up a side route too narrow for them to follow and lifted a manhole to get out. The next time we looked everything had been welded or bolted down.

So, to whoever you were, sorry for the near heart attacks.
(Carpe Cyprinidae, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 18:21, 2 replies)

I would probably be best if you were to sit down for this. I’ll confess and apologize, but you have to promise not to get angry if I do. I’m not going to sugar-coat this. It’s bad, really bad, but you have to swear that you won't get mad when I tell you, because if you get upset and yell about how you're really disappointed in me, I'm just not going to say anything.

All right, here we go.

There’s no easy way to put this, so get ready, because here it comes.

If you get all huffy, you will be the one at fault, not me. It’s really not that big a deal. I’m only human, you know? And anyway, who are you to judge? Are you perfect? Can you really cast the first stone?

You still want an apology? Wow, you’re not making this easy for me. Not easy at all.

Well, here goes. I... I...

You know what? Forget it. I don’t have to do this. You're not better than me, and I don't have to do this. Just forget it.

Sincerely,

-- Lance A.
(Roving Blowtorch, Fri 18 Jan 2013, 10:53, 2 replies)

Dear Elton
...
Sorrry
Soorry
Soory
Sorree
Soree

My apologies, you were right.

Best Wishes

Archie
( The Great Architect is still waiting for his account to be deleted on, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:46, 3 replies)

I had a few boxes of Granny Smiths.
I know - not particularly posh, but nevertheless very fruity, and prone to having sex in their crates when no-one was looking.
I'm not saying sorry for anything
except my humble apple orgies.
( blyerkit e k trilby, Mon 21 Jan 2013, 18:19, 8 replies)

The hand of God.
Dear RBL Drinkers,

Remember the time during the 1986 World Cup quarter finals, the England v. Argentina game? Remember trying to watch it in the back bar at the local Royal British Legion?

You do? Well, in that case, I'm sorry that you missed the 'Hand of God' moment. I'm also sorry that the volume was inexplicably high at random moments and that you all had the TV remote taken from you because "you can't be trusted with it".

I'm fairly certain that you're all sorry that you trusted my father to buy the TV for that bar (as at the time, he was the treasurer of the club), and that he'd bought two identical TVs at the time, and that, of course, we had an identical remote control for it.
I'm sorry that we crept around to the back window with the remote from my house and randomly changed the channels and volume during that game.
In our defence, how could we foresee that it was to be a game that would go down in the annuls of history?

Yours,

13 year old dchurch and his mate from school.
(dchurch bah, Mon 21 Jan 2013, 10:45, 3 replies)

Whoops - sorry for causing an estimated £2m worth of damage
My sincerest apologies to the site manager of the massive well known high street department store refurb and refit.

Sorry for dicking about with a length of metal cable pretending to be Indiana Jones and taking out a ceiling sprinkler when trying to whip coat hangers off a rail.

Sorry for the thousands of cubic litres of stagnant water that burst through the now damaged outlet and cascaded down all three levels of the store ruining not only all the walls, wall fittings, carpets, flooring and stock but the escalators and lift shafts too.

Sorry I fucking legged it down all the flights of stairs and hid in the bogs for 5 minutes before emerging pretending to look as horrified and shocked as everyone else.

Sorry to the guy in the basement, knee deep in swirling water trying to shut off the mains water supply via a massive metal wheel (Imagine the scene at the end of The Poseidon Adventure).

Sorry to the security firm that interviewed every member of the team for lying through my teeth about where I was when the disaster struck.

Sorry to the all the guys that had to work day and night for 2 weeks to repair all the damage I caused in time for the grand opening.

Lastly, sorry to the imaginary Polish painter and decorator who, as folk lore now has it, damaged the sprinkler valve with his long wooden ladder over his shoulder.

;-)
(l0bst3r, Sat 19 Jan 2013, 10:33, Reply)

I'm sorry to the young lady, who's name escapes me now...
...that I was engaging in a numerically named sexual position with, a few years back.
Looking back, a vindaloo may not have been the ideal meal to have on our date. And although I was rather proud of the sniper-like accuracy at which I fired the intestinal gas up your unsuspecting nostrils, I feel it ruined the moment somewhat. A feeling which was confirmed by you rushing to the bathroom retching as you fled.

I am also sorry for getting dressed and leaving at that moment, going back to the pub and copping off with someone else...
I am also a little sorry that I did not fart up her nose as well.
(NoStrings Tastes like zombies!!, Sat 19 Jan 2013, 23:05, 3 replies)

Dear Kate
I feel I must explain. I was supposed to be meeting a promoter I had never met before, in the pub before the gig when you arrived early. I guess the reason I said what I said was your short hair, small breasts and gender neutral clothing. I guess I can't be held completely responsible but I am sorry that the band all burst out with laughter and caused you to run out of the pub when I innocently asked you if you were Geoff and you replied "No I'm Kate". They were laughing at me, not you, I promise.
( Peej, Sun 20 Jan 2013, 18:30, Reply)

Dear b3ta,
I'm sorry that (yet again), I haven't got anything funny this week.

I remember when QotW used to make me literally hurt from trying not to laugh while I read it in the office.

This week, I've got a couple of things I regret saying to Jess before she died... this isn't the place for them, mos'def. And I've got a couple of things in my life that I feel really bad about, to do with people still living... but I've already spoken to them and sorted it, so I literally have nothing for you - again.

Yours,
Prof KM

tl;dr version - don't read this post
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sun 20 Jan 2013, 17:47, 3 replies)

Sorry
for breathing when you were on your period.
(magic the cat will someone please think of the kittens, Fri 18 Jan 2013, 12:28, 3 replies)

My brother and I used to apologise for EVERYTHING
Like, if we moved aside to let someone walk past on the pavement, we'd apologise. If we wanted someone to move out of the way so we could get past we'd apologise. If we sang a wrong note in choir we'd apologise.

One day my mum took us aside and tried to explain the nuances of the legal system to us. "If you say sorry, you're saying it's your fault, and then that person can sue you. If you don't say sorry it's not your fault."

My brother went up to a school bully and kicked him in the crotch, then ran off shouting, "It's not my fault, I didn't say soooorrryyyyy!"
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 23:59, 5 replies)

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:13, 1 reply)

60's/ 70's Nasa space program was a sorry time
They had to train to withstand the Apollo Gs
(roysin, Mon 21 Jan 2013, 22:35, 3 replies)

What?
I met Sir Henry Cooper at Royal Ascot a few years ago and reminisced with him about the time he knocked down Cassius Clay with his 'ammer. He looked at me with confusion and not a little pity.


It turned out I was speaking to Clare Balding. I believe an apology is still outstanding. The old memory is not what it once was, probably.
(Brigadier an old boot sitting on a man's face - forever, Sun 20 Jan 2013, 16:37, 3 replies)

Sorry I spent your gambling stake
No need to kill my fucking kestrel though.
(McChinaman banned, Tue 22 Jan 2013, 13:22, 7 replies)

Dear Niece
I am so sorry that all those years ago I encouraged you to write to The BBC so you could appear on "Jim'll Fix It".
Dear BBC,
Under the circumstances, thank you so much for NOT replying to her.
(Mackeson_drinker, Tue 22 Jan 2013, 7:43, 2 replies)

I'm sort of sorry...
To Gay John and Ugly The Cunt, I didn't know those nicknames would stay with you for almost ten years. If I did, nothing would have changed. I thought it would be funny to give you both offensive nicknames and, in my defense, everyone laughed and decided to also call you by those names.

To Titchy Liam, I'm not sorry at all. You're about 3 feet tall and it's hardly offensive is it? Get over it you miserable sod.

To Shit Kev, you are shit. Hence the name. Want people to stop calling you that? Well stop being shit.

To Pizza Slut, I never gave you that name, I only helped make it popular and to be fair you do get around more than the Beach Boys.

I take it I'm now forgiven for being childish and calling people silly/rude names?
(Thor McLegend FUCK SHITPANTS PAC MAN, Mon 21 Jan 2013, 14:54, 10 replies)

She stood out in the yard
and listened to the empty wind blowing across the barnyard as tears coursed down her cheeks. Not a living sound reached her ears, only the wind.

She knew it was all her fault. She had sent him away, and now she was alone. She regretted it to the depths of her being, wishing that she could speak to him one last time, to tell him how sorry she was. And even though she knew that he was gone for good, she couldn't help but call "Sooo-eee! Soo-soo-sooo-eee!"

The scent of the baking ham was the only reply.
( Wanderer, Sun 20 Jan 2013, 20:40, Reply)

To the person sitting next to me in Year 3.
Sorry for getting a load of pencil shavings into your hair. I don't think it went down well, though I can't remember exactly what happened anymore...
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sat 19 Jan 2013, 16:48, 5 replies)

To all the dying bees
Apiologies.
(roysin, Sat 19 Jan 2013, 11:37, Reply)

I like these letters to old teachers that were in the Grauniad last year
Dear Mrs French Teacher,
Sorry for sticking pins on your seat. It must have been painful.
Yours sincerely, Simon Hattenstone

Dear Mr Gadja,
Sorry for saying: "Oy, Nobby, over here," in class. It was disrespectful. I know your real name is Norbert, and I know that even though I know it's Norbert really I should call you Mr Gadja. I understand now that only your best friends call you Nobby, and I'm not one of them.
Simon

Eccles Sixth Form College
Dear Mr Computer Studies teacher,
Sorry for climbing out of the window when I saw you coming into class. At least it was the ground floor. (I'd had a drink.)
Yours faithfully, Simon Hattenstone
(former part-time student)

Dear Miss Denton,
I'd like to apologise, for myself and my whole class, for being generally horrid and playing such a nasty trick on you, 56 years ago in maths lessons. Because you were one of our least horrid teachers. You were young, rather shy, pleasant, blushed easily, and so we attacked. Because it was easy. We couldn't do much about the really horrid old witch teachers who made our lives hell, like Miss Titmuss, the RE teacher, who shook us whenever possible, or Miss Ashley, with her grey sausage curls and outrageous punishments – Latin detention for me, for jumping down three steps into the playground. No, Miss Denton, you were sweet and kind. So you got it in the neck. One day, you had just got to the end of a gigantic sum, which had taken us half the lesson to do, and which you'd written up on the board. You wrote in the answer, and then were suddenly called away to the telephone. One of us, I'm not telling who, because we all egged her on, rubbed out the answer and changed it. Back you came. "Please Miss," we said. "You've got the answer wrong.'"And you had to go through the whole gigantic sum again, until you got the right answer, and then apologised meekly for your silly mistake. We all looked very serious. You probably never knew that it was all a nasty joke. How we laughed when we got out of class. But why? You were never nasty to any of us. So, sorry Miss Denton. We liked you really.
Michele

Dear wood- and metalwork teacher,
I am sorry that we didn't pay attention and ignored the safety briefing in favour of re-enacting the previous night's The Young Ones (the mouse episode). I'm sorry that when you said to me: "You're good at maths, you should be a civil engineer, it's starting to be a fascinating industry for women," I blew out my fringe (grown to cover spots) and tutted and didn't bother to look into it even a tiny little bit, or do my technical drawing homework, and as a consequence got a dreadful report. If the books hadn't worked out, creating roads and bridges and airports would have been vastly more fulfilling and rewarding than the junior public-sector admin role that was my only alternative. And now I've married an engineer, and have a son looking that way and he says: "I'm going to be an engineer like daddy," and I hiss "civil engineer" at him. Then I tell him to go talk to his grandpa. Because as every teacher's child knows, it's bloody awful being taught by your own dad, however much you love them. And when we walk down the streets of my home town, the number of gainfully employed, useful, successful, handy boys who come up and say: "Hello, Mr Colgan" (you never recognise them. Being a retired teacher in a small town is a bit like being a retired rock star), and thank you copiously for everything you did for them makes me feel even more foolish than I undoubtedly was back then.
With love, Jennifer xxxx

Dear Miss Mitchell,
I'm glad to have this opportunity to apologise for having been such an absolute little cow during the years you taught me German, French and Russian. Although you are now at rest in the great staffroom in the sky, I still feel a pang of shame when I recall how badly I behaved during your lessons. I remember your patient sigh when you caught me inking in little black spots on my legs below the holes in my black tights, or painting on pearlised orange nail-polish under the desk. You pretended not to notice my CND badge, banned on school premises, or the whiffs of cigarette smoke that lingered in the girls' toilets. I hope you never read any of the cruel notes my friends and I passed around in class, commenting on your appearance, and speculating on your love life. I felt ashamed when I learned, afterwards, that you'd lost your fiance during the second world war, and teaching us became your life instead. I would like to thank you for your perseverance. As you must have guessed, at heart I was always a little swot, and at home in private I practised those strange gargling sounds you taught us, and memorised the Lorelei song, and long passages of Phèdre and Evgeny Onegin. And thanks to you, even after all these years, I can still pull off a cool subjunctive, which impresses the Frenchies no end.
Do svidanya, auf wiedersehen, adieu,
Marina
.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2012/oct/23/dear-sir-im-sorry-apology-former-teachers
( buffet_the_appetite_slayer ٩(●̮̃•)۶ jacked in to the ICE on, Thu 17 Jan 2013, 15:42, 4 replies)

Dear Prince Harry
We would like to apologise for making you look like a jackass.

From now on you're a hero.

Sincerely,

The Press.

p.s:

sorry about your mum
(roysin, Tue 22 Jan 2013, 12:23, 7 replies)

Why with a back catalogue of memorable hits and melodic soulful songs did Chris play an hour of samey blues slide guitar. It became a monotonous dirge. It was terrible. Even the set was the same as two years ago using the same slideshow and stage props.
I know he fell out with his record company and wanted to record and play different material but he’s got to remember his fans who bought the earlier music WHICH THEY EXPECT TO BE PLAYED AT A CONCERT. Chris if you’ve lost interest then just pack in. If not remember the public who bought your records and put you where you are.
I will not be going again.

tl;dr

Saw Rea.
(speedevil, Mon 21 Jan 2013, 18:02, Reply)

A party or reception held in the evening

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 21 Jan 2013, 14:28, 1 reply)

I'm sorry driver of Volkswagen Golf
Stationary at the lights with your sunroof open

Directly below a foot bridge.

On which I was standing.

With a water balloon.

Teenagers...
(Frample Tromwibbler climbs an obstacle like old people fuck, Sat 19 Jan 2013, 14:17, 1 reply)

Mum & Dad
Dear Mum & Dad,

Sorry for all the shit I put you through as a teenager, sorry of all the obvious lies I told you as to where I was going, where I'd been and what I'd up to.

After moving in with my (ex) girlfriend and her two teenagers, I realise that all of these stories were just as unbelievable coming from my mouth as they were from theirs.

For this I apologise, for thinking you were gullible enough to believe them, I'm sorry.

I'd also like to thank you for putting up the pretence that you believed me and not grounding my for the next 5 years. This helped me grow into the semi reasonably, responsible adult I am now.

Sorry.
(HungOver, Fri 18 Jan 2013, 20:53, Reply)

Terribly sorry
for coming here after years away, posting a reply to Question of the Week and promptly disappearing again.
( froopyscot may have a prehensile cock, Fri 18 Jan 2013, 17:43, 2 replies)

Back In 1977
Some mates of mine were stopped by security just before the went into a notorious bar. Due to some quick thinking, a little sleight of hand and some misdirection, they got past security without too many problems.

I'm sorry.

Those *were* the droids you'd been looking for.....

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 18 Jan 2013, 12:00, 7 replies)