Dear Slade

Re: Various

It was all I could do last week to stop my neighbour Derek from getting on the train to Wolverhampton and giving you all a good clip around the ear, knocking your ridiculous mirrored top hats off in the process.

For three glorious school terms Derek’s grandson was the proud, if you will pardon the pun, “holder” of his year's spelling trophy, and his lexical deftness and accuracy under tournament conditions made him the Bishop of Winchester Scrabble Club Champion. There was even talk of this linguistic prodigy ultimately being groomed for district championships as a springboard to Countdown.

Pandemonium, however, ensued in the assembly hall when he answered a routine preliminary challenge as 'P.L.E.E.Z.E'. On a very icy (as in socially awkward as opposed to a frozen road surface) drive home from the tournament the disgraced young man admitted that his blunder was down to an over-exposure to the printed tracklisting of your “Sladest” hits compendium, which I have now read with repugnance. One may sadly remark, “Look Wot You Dun”, Slade. Your litany of orthographic shame does not, I regret, end here. “Coz I Luv You”, “Take Me Bak 'Ome”, “Mama Weer All Crazee Now”, “Cum On Feel The Noize”, “Skweeze Me Pleeze Me” and arguably "Merry Xmas Everybody” are further reasons why young Matthew is now regularly tripped up between lessons and shunned by his classmates and teachers alike.

Indeed, much of the blame for today's teenage texting dyslexia (and perhaps the Rubettes) must surely lay at your stack-heeled feet and I sincerely hope that in order to protect and uphold correct spelling of the English language, your future revival remains far, far away.

Yoorz sarkastiklee

 

 

Wlf Trnbl (Wilf Turnbull)

 

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