Dear elderly Caucasian man with the noticeably younger Asian wife who walk the same walk every morning,
I know it is so wrong of me to think ‘mail order bride’ and it annoys me that I do. So I apologise. But what is with the pair of you wearing what appear to be gardening gloves and the matching broad-rimmed straw hats and sneakers? I did have a chuckle to myself when I caught you out earlier than usual (when I had somewhat remarkably got the boys to their respective schools earlier than the one minute before the bell) and you had matching baseball caps on instead. I wonder about your life and despite my cynicism find it quite endearing that as you complete this daily ritual you are always holding hands.
Dear surfers who use the platform at South Narrabeen to check out the surf,
You are all h.o.t. Please feel free to stand on that viewing platform, your silhouettes marking the most quintessential image of life on Sydney’s beaches, as often as you like. Preferably with the wetsuits half on and torsos bared.
Dear new Lollipop Crossing Guard at Oscar’s school,
I’m so pleased they sacked the last man. There I was thinking I was the only one thinking he was some cranky old bastard trying to squeeze the last gasps of megalomaniacal control in his life at a school crossing and it turns out he really was a cranky old bastard. Apparently the chasing a woman and banging on her car swearing at her in front of all the school kiddies was the final straw. You seem absolutely lovely and I’d like to welcome you into the wonderful community that is Oscar’s school.
Dear teacher who works with mum and also helps with some big jobs in our back yard,
You are such a lovely man and if I had any single female friends I would so be setting you up on a blind date. But the story today? About shooting possums with a homemade silencer on a .22? It kind of caught me off guard. You are quite the enigmatic creature and I wish you had been able to stay for dinner.
Dear programmers on the Lifestyle Food channel,
If you don’t put some decent shows on soon I’m going to start writing letters. Enough with the human Bratz doll, Lydia with the alopecia, that man who cooks but gives no quanitites and always ends making cocktails, that weird sugar show that looks like it’s filmed on a Martha Stewart set and again, gives no quantities for the recipes she is preparing, the endless episodes of Great British Menu with that hideous host who resembles a mouse, and Simply Ming who quite frankly makes me want to take his wok and simply beat him over the head with it. Get to it. Thanks.