Dear Mr. Dan

Re: Rikki Don’t Lose That Number

Admittedly through no fault of your own, I mistakenly procured your ‘Definitive Collection’ this morning for the not unreasonable price of 75 pence, after locating it in a laundry basket in the doorway of The Cats Protection Charity Shop on Charminster Road, adjacent to an open suitcase full of The Pan Book of Horror. Upon my return home I was slightly deflated to discover that the motive for my purchase was notable only by it’s absence, ergo that All Around My Hat was actually the work of your similarly named pop group colleagues, Steeleye Spam. Nevertheless, and despite my mild chagrin, I decided to put a brave face on things and have just ‘spun’ the assemblage in its entirety. Of all the featured 'tracks' I found myself to be most intrigued by the above-titled ‘AOR hit’ and its conjecturable erroneousness, for the reasons outlined below.

Forgive me Mr. Dan for postulating that your advice to 'Rikki' regarding the retention of an unspecified third party's telephone contact details may be fallacious. I am somewhat concerned for the wellbeing of the central character of your ‘tune’, which seems to imply that he or she does seem to have rather a limited circle of friends and is either estranged from all family or perhaps orphaned. This evaluation is borne out by your counsel, specifically that the individual is advised against mislaying the amalgam of communicational digits on the grounds that, and I quote directly from the work. ‘it’s the only one you own, you can use it if you feel better’. 

Let us scrutinise these dual librettos in isolation from one another. 

Addressing the former, forgive me for suggesting that I find it quite uneconomical, not to mention disconcerting, that one may only have at one’s disposal the aural liaison information of just one other person. In relation to the first concern, unless of course ‘Rikki’ has a ‘pay as you go’ arrangement with his or her network provider, the monthly line rental (irrespective of free texts and/or free evening and weekend calls) is surely an unjustifiable waste of money, especially as it seems clear from the ‘lyric’ that a telecommunicational interface with this enigmatic potential co-speaker is yet to be consummated. With regard to the latter the only logical conclusion to be reluctantly drawn from the stanzas presented must be that our subject is either a pariah, a borderline sociopath or at best an alienated deviant either unable and/or unwilling to integrate within a regularly organised community. It cannot be ruled out of course that my assessment is incorrect and that the individual is both gregarious and very popular, having many relatives and acquaintances that do not happen to possess a telephone, however in today’s ‘high tech’ world this theorum is most unlikely and should therefore be disregarded. Rather than being side-tracked by his record-keeping capabilities and advocating dialled electronic conversational association with someone who may transpire to be in grave danger, I exhort you to disassociate from this potentially murderous ‘loner’ immediately and report them to the local constabulary and/or Social Service so that they may be sectioned under the Mental Health Act pending a psychiatric profiling evaluation and restrained from harming others, hopefully with a view to rehabilitation and a gradual nurturing into acceptable behaviour and everyday life at an unspecifiable date yet to be determined.

Moving now to the latter, I am bamboozled as to why you seem to be
under the illusion that communion of this nature can only be successful if the dialler is in good health. Just last week I contracted a nasty cough after a particularly wet day of angling, but was still perfectly able to establish a clear connection to my wife Jean at her sister’s in Boscombe where she was visiting, requesting that she fetch me a jar of Galloway’s and a tube of Blackcurrant Lockets on her way home.

After no little trepidation and some gentle but persistent coercion from bingo colleagues I finally succumbed to the T-mobile outlet in Old Christchurch Road some months ago, and have now joined the space age with my state of the art T-Mobile Samsung E1150i Cobble Mobile ‘handset’. I must confess to initially being no little befuddled with the ‘functionality’ of the gadget but have now mastered the incipiently perilous realm of ‘predictive texting’ and the ability to ‘save’ a ‘new contact’ to my ‘SIM’, after a somewhat flippant and apathetic tutorial from my eight year old grandson which he agreed to present in exchange for Haribo and three bags of 25% extra free Wotsits. Prior to being au fait with the latter procedure, it was Jean and I’s normal custom when making a new friend or perhaps being introduced to the services of a highly regarded plumber to write their number in the alphabetical ring binder hallway located by our ‘landline’ receiver in the hallway or at the very least scribble it on a ‘post it note’ or scrap of paper which would then be adhesed to our fridge door or held in place by one of our collection of Wallace and Gromit novelty magnets. It would appear Mr. Dan that you shun these universally accepted methods and are instructing 'Rikki' to send it off in a letter to himself. I will reserve judgement upon your rather bizarre postal based submonition until I am in full receipt of your explanation as to it’s effectiveness and how it may supercede our current practices, particularly in relation to non-delivery and stamp expense.

Overall Sir I do not find your virtuoso jazz rock ‘fusions’ to be displeasing to the ear. As tempted as I am however to once more put stylus to vinyl, I will not 'Do It Again' until my findings have been acknowledged and, if you will pardon the pun, 'addressed'

Yours sincerely 



Derek Philpott

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