Somewhere,
In,
Oxford,
OX20 9XX

March 18, 1996

Dear sir/madam/whoever,

I write with reference to your unceasing efforts to keep me informed of the latest activities of the band Wet Wet Wet. Whilst I admire your diligence and determination in notifying me of all their releases, and your generosity in offering me ample opportunities to win distinctive prizes, I regret to inform you that I am not, have never been and will never be a Wet Wet Wet fan. I almost like the chorus of "Sweet Little Mystery" but that's as far as it goes. Indeed, I still recall the summer of '94 when their syrupy version of "Love is all Around" poured like slurry from every radio in the nation, and forced me to consider taking out a contract on the whole band.

You may therefore be wondering how I came to subscribe to a Wet information service. This I attribute to a cruel act of vengeance by a former girlfriend who, knowing how much I detest talentless bozos, used my details to fill in one of your promotional cards. I think this was a particularly well-planned act of malice on her part, as she did it before we even started going out. Your first mailing arrived shortly after we split up, some months later. I was, naturally, gutted and embarked on a disastrous affair with a former Duran fan from Kensington.

In fact, I cite her fixation with Marti Pellow as a contributory factor to our break-up, and will shortly be taking legal advice to see if I can sue the smooth bugger for causing emotional distress. I have always been concerned about the hold this perma-grinning banshee has had over my female friends. Everytime he appears on television (far too often in a civilised country), there is a chorus of passionately longing sighs (them), followed by violent retching noises (me). As for their excited tales of last year's NEC concert, I do not want to relive the experience again without heavy sedation. I could excuse Mr Pellow's groomed looks and ingratiating manner if he and his band did not carry the same attitude over into their songwriting, which has less substance than a marshmallow and produces much the same feeling of queasiness in excessive quantity (i.e. more than five seconds).

Naturally, I do not hold you responsible for this predicament. Nevertheless, I would greatly appreciate it if you could cease and desist from touting their undesirable wares through my letterbox. I would be only too willing to recommend your efficient service to the friends concerned instead, but I feel they have suffered enough under their delusions and I must put their welfare first. One of them is already making tentative steps to becoming an Oasis fan, and I would not wish to jeopardise her recovery. I am sure you will understand.

Yours faithfully,

A.J. Rixon

PS. I note from your latest flyer that the band have recently plated gigs in Jakarta. I wonder if, following further success out East, they might not be persuaded to relocate on a permanent basis?

See the reply from the Wets mailing list!

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