User avatarI’m flattered but…

Chris, mate, dear old friend of mine. How long have we known each other now? Something in the region of (properly) 24 years? Would that be a fair assumption? You’ve seen me in some pretty awful states. I’ve watched you try to get a refund for the worst steak pie ever cooked and served to human beings. I wrote you a song about a cheeky chaffinch whilst hammered on strong cider. We drove to the South coast of England, twice, ten years apart. We’ve recorded five number one albums together as everyone’s favourite quirky pop duo masterminds. You bought me a ticket to see the band Cake live. I once sent you a sandwich in the post, with Kev as the filling.

I could do this for a very long time.

I want you to know though, and I do mean this in the nicest possible way, I want you to be aware that I could not give two shits about your zodiac business.

Following my shining example, you decided to strike on your own in a new career. This should be commended because it’s never an easy thing to do (see all of my jobs over the last five years plus). Who would have thought you would have chosen astrology out of all the possible jobs available to you? I would have pinned you down as a dog shiner or a soup tester, maybe a road botherer. You may even have cut it as a moose wrangler, not that there are many mooses in the Royskopp area.

I want you to stop emailing me about zodiacs though. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want anything about star signs cluttering up my inbox or my junk folder. Send it to those who want to believe in bollocks that has absolutely no bearing on their lives whatever. Please feel free to indulge those gullible enough to accept that a vague explanation of their existence printed in a newspaper or a book on a daily basis is actually all about them and not beige enough to cover one twelfth of the population.

If I keep getting your emails I may have to contact the police or, worse, your dad who will ensure that you never get a proper key to use the gates at his house. Please stop.

(Photos provided courtesy of “fucking about” with my Windows phone)

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