Today I was dumbfounded when I read this open letter which Gordon Ramsay appears to have sent to his mother-in-law via the medium of the London Standard Newspaper. Presumably he's lost her address, his carrier pigeons are on annual leave and his internet's gone down so he can't even do it via Facebook.
Anyway, it got me thinking...
Here are a few things I have been meaning to get off my chest for some time now and thought, "what better way to do it than to use my blog to publicly address the issues that have been bothering me?".
Firstly, to those bus drivers who are grumpy at me first thing in the morning. I've just got up and I still manage to be cheerful and smiley. Stop bringing me down!
If you work at a supermarket and I decline your offer of help with my packing, this merely means I can pack the bags myself when my shopping travels down the conveyor belt at a speed not greater than the speed of light. Anything faster than this and I might struggle a little.
Likewise, if you could wait until I have unfurled all my change from the receipt you shoved in my hand and redeposited that, along with my loyalty card into my purse and then in turn, my purse, back into my bag before you start throwing down the next customer's shopping, I would really appreciate that.
Whilst I'm on the subject, if you are a customer on either side of me in a queue at the supermarket, you do not need to panic that I am going to a) let you pay for my shopping or b) accidentally pay for yours. This will not happen. Please don't get into such a flap about separating our shopping with the "Next Customer Please" sign that you knock over the pensioner using a Zimmer Frame who is standing next to you.
A polite note to motorists refuelling at petrol stations where it says "Use Both Sides" - this means the hose is long enough to stretch right round your car so you do not need to wait for a space to become free on the same side as your petrol cap.
And on a more personal note, Mum, you know I love you very much but it really pissed me off when you tried to get me to dress up as a giant baby at the Strawberry Fair when I was 6. Please don't try to pull a stunt like that ever again.
Mr G, yesterday I came home and discovered you had drunk the last bit of Coke, and let me tell you, I was hopping mad.
To the chap who came up to me on a night out in the Treasury once and told me "My mate thinks you're a dog but I think you're quite fit", I will not forget that.
To whoever at my primary school decided me and my best friend were so musically incompetent that we were only permitted to share a bongo for "Little Donkey" in the Christmas Play. Well, you were probably right actually.
And finally, to Gordon Ramsay, please air your dirty laundry behind closed doors, or at least in the domain in which it belongs, such as on Jeremy Kyle.
The Un-Working Girl