email to Stense entitled


Just a quickie:

Remember that letter I wrote to you on 8th September, 1998? Of course you do! It contained the following lengthy passage:

… The following evening, Michelle Pfeiffer phoned me up and asked me out! I said no, of course. “Michelle,” I said, “you're a lovely lass and everything, but you're just not my type”. Michelle said she was gutted. Then, not five minutes later, the phone rings again. It's Kim Basinger this time. You've guessed it - she wants to go out with me as well! Uncanny or what? She says something about wanting to show me her Golden Globes, but I haven't a clue what she's talking about. “Kim, what can I say? We have nothing in common. I'm sorry, but the answer's no.” Kim is distraught.

At first, I just pass it all off as a bit of a coincidence, but then I get to thinking: how come these two screen goddesses have even heard of me, let alone want to go out with me? I like to think of myself as a fairly quiet, anonymous chap, who maintains a low profile (if not a narrow one). Yes, I suppose there is my website, but that gives absolutely no personal details. So how come they know about me? Come to think of it, how do they even know my phone number? I'm ex-directory!

Then I started thinking some more. Who do I know with contacts in the world of entertainment, who might perhaps have tried to set me up with a silver screen babe? Irish Mick? Nope. Charlie? Nope. Penry, the mild-mannered janitor? Not even him. So who?


It was you, wasn't it? You tried to set me up with Michelle and Kim. I know all about you and your so-called connections. What sort of chap do you take me for? I'm a one woman man, plain and simple. I've heard about the easy come, easy go, attitudes of you thespian types, but this is the first time I have experienced them first hand - and it's NOT my scene. I know you probably had my best interests at heart, and I appreciate the effort you made. Thanks, but I'm perfectly capable of sorting out my own love life, thank you very much - not that it needs sorting out; no, no problems whatsoever in that department, I'm pleased to say. [But, if you do happen to have a contact for Philippa Forrester out of Tomorrow's World, and you feel like putting in a good word…]

So guess who I found myself standing next to in the women's jumpers section of the Liverpool branch of Marks & Spencer yesterday? That's right, none other than the aforementioned Philippa Forrester.

I didn't introduce myself, even though she's still a complete fox.

I'm pissed. Will contact you soon.

Take care,

Ri xx

Richard Carter

A fat, bearded chap with a Charles Darwin fixation.

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