A letter to the editor.

A faithful and very ancient newspaper reader bemoans.


Dear Sir/(Madam/Other)

I am writing to complain about what I consider to be an unfortunate erosion of values under your watch.

I am sending this by (paper plane) airmail for fear that snail-mail will be a dud.

The Royal Mail is a b. disgrace.

Colour!

Faithful reader of your publication over the last one hundred and fifty years, I have noticed a growing dependence on colour and sensationalism, and news (if that is what one must call it) coming from what appears to be overseas.

Talking of colour, have you started to employ writers from the colonies as some economy  measure or have you dreamed up some new-fangled (ill-considered) scheme to export your (our) daily broadsheet abroad in order to pick up a few cheap readers?

It is a b. disgrace!!

What ever happened to our place in our Commonwealth???

It has become increasingly difficult to find your (our) paper in the diminishing (disappearing) number of reputable newsagents.

More and more people are suggesting that I bite the bullet and go 'digital.'

HA! BROADSHEET!!

What must a man do now if he wants to protect his bald pate from the mid-day sun?

Hold up a bloody iPad?

YOU seem to have forgotten the importance of a BROADSHEET for an Englishman's afternoon nap.

Have you never been to a test match!

Have you never spent a day on Frinton-on-sea greensward in mid-July?

I am told that I will be able to buy, nay 'have' a constantly updated version of the publication 'online'!!

What the hell is that about?  

Am I to radiate myself with one of those light boxes that I hear commuters now glue their eyes to?

How am I supposed to hide my proud carriage grimace behind a five-inch rectangle?

How am I supposed to avoid speaking to my better half at breakfast behind a five-inch rectangle?

How am I supposed to light a fire with a bloody piece of aluminium and glass and plastic and various bits of toxic handmedowns?

Have you lost hold of your senses man (woman/other)?

Furthermore, moreover, and what is also the case:

Subeditors.

I buy a newspaper to inform me at reasonable intervals of what a trained and trusted group of professional journalists consider to be an essential synthesis of our nation's days events; not to give me a bloody running commentary on some ruddy American football match.

What the hell is American Football???

Quality, a quality broadsheet that is what I deemed to buy.

Quantity, or frequency dear chap (madam/other) is no compensation for weak quality!

Furthermore, moreover, and what is also the case:

What do I care about a horde of shabby migrants vagrants queuing up in Calais to invade the home counties?

What do we have the armed forces for?

Chat-show!

The other day, there was even some 'LIVE CHAT' ladida with some obscure FRENCH actress.

Juliet Binwash or something.

What are you thinking of?

What will my better half think when she sees me tapping up some floosy over my kippers?

British standards.

Might I add, I even had the shock and disappointment not to have any reading matter to accompany my cod, chips and mushy peas the other day.

While the meal was wholesome enough (no thanks to you!!), it was wrapped in an offwhite piece of blank paper and with the grease held in some sort of plastic carton.

Whatever happened to the Fleetwood Gazette NEWSPAPER which wrapped it before???

I understand that half the bloody press is now owned by some vulgar pom basher from down under.

Well frankly, is that any wonder if these are your standards.

Yours, frankly

Disgusted from Frinton.


PS. digital like digitalis is toxic!



Footnote.

Disgusted from Frinton unfortunately featured in this week's online obituary column.

He/She/Other will be greatly missed by a few selected mourners.

No flowers please.