Dear Richard Hammond

For years friends of mine have commented on how much they think I look like you but I failed to believe them until I recently holidayed in Scarborough.

Upon arriving at the Grand Hotel, I noticed that the receptionist turned a peculiar shade of crimson and began whispering to the maitre d. I was shown to my room and thought nothing more of it until 30 minutes later when a complimentary bottle of champagne was delivered to my room courtesy of the hotel Manager, along with a note expressing his great admiration for me. I found this very odd until my wife, pointed out that they probable think that I am David Tennant, as this has happened on several occasions and causes great embarrassment on the occasional passing of rowdy school busses.

My evening meal was served amidst lots of whispers and nudges and in the end my wife and I decided to eat in our room. It was then that I spotted a note that had been slid under the door from a fellow holiday maker offering me a large sum of money to spend an hour with his wife apart from the note was addressed to Richard Hammond. Needless to say I declined the offer. However, I continued to receive gifts, toy cars, flowers, vouchers and my pre-paid holiday was refunded as it was an honour to have Richard Hammond staying in their Hotel and although my card said my name on it the only comment I received regarding my true identity was that it was ‘very wise’ of me to use a pseudonym. Due to the credit crunch and the decline in the country’s economy I decided to take advantage of the situation and managed to make a saving of over £400 which I put towards a conservatory.

You may also like to know that I also received an extra £250 after visiting a sick child in hospital, at the request of the hotel, and he was thrilled to meet me/you and they took some photographs which I told them could be forwarded to me via Top Gear at the BBC. When you receive the photographs could you please send them to me at the address above, I would most appreciate it.

The funny thing about the whole thing is, I am actually 6’5 tall which means that the idiots who believed that I was you must also think that Jeremy Clarkson is nearly 8 feet tall. I mustn’t laugh though because these people saved me a lot of money and my conservatory is really coming on. Please may I have a signed picture of you and then I will have something to leave with an ill child, should I ever meet one again under such circumstances.

Yours sincerely

Leigh

Awaiting reply

Dear Jane McDonald

1. When is Star for a Night coming back on TV?
2. What is your most embarrassing moment?

I really hope you put an end to my sleepless nights and answer these questions. In the meantime, I have noticed a distinct lack of original material on your albums and have therefore written you a song for you to either a) put on an album or b) release as a single (B PLEASE!!!) Here goes..

Sometimes I feel like dying
And wish that I was dead
Sometimes I feel like crying
But I cut myself instead

From the cuts come grief
But then I found a fan
And was overwhelmed with relief
Because he’s my perfect man

I love the way you kiss my lips
I love the way you laugh
I love the smell of your fingertips
When we make love in the bath

Now I don’t feel like killing myself
Because I’m so in love with you
But if you ever left me
Christ alone knows what I’d do

I don’t ever want to break up with you
I’d rather be buried alive
Buried alive a a ive
Buried aaaaaaaaaalive
Aaaalive
(heavy breathing)
Alive
(sound of a coffin lid slamming shut)
THE END

Thanks so much Jane, It’s called Buried Alive by Leigh Clark. I hope you like it, I’m not sure what I’ll do if you don’t. Oh well!
Can I please have a signed photograph of you for my personal use?

Love from Leigh

Dear Mariella Frostrup

I am in a desperate situation at the moment and feel cornered by what I have witnessed in the past two weeks. I can’t speak to anyone about this as I am too embarrassed.

My sister started going out with her boyfriend, who I shall refer to as D to protect his privacy, around 6 months ago. Things started off very well, I had loads in common with him. We both like cricket and Queen etc. My sister seemed really happy and everyone noticed a change in her both in her moods and in her physical appearance, she always had a smile on her face and started washing her hair regularly and wearing make-up.

Darren spoils her, buying her whatever she wants, whenever she wants. He’s very affectionate always cuddling her and kissing her and telling her how great she is, which always puts a smile on my sister’s face and undoubtedly leaves her with a feeling of great contentment.

Two weeks ago my sister and her boyfriend telephoned all of the family members for a gathering at their house. Their sombre tone on the telephone alarmed everyone. I was too concerned to wait all day for the gathering so I immediately drove to D’s house to find out what was wrong. He invited me in and told me that I had better sit down as he had some distressing news. He proceeded to tell me that my sister was terminally ill and had been given only weeks to live. I broke down, I couldn’t believe it. My sister was not at his house at the time so he made me a cup of tea and we both cried for well over an hour. I wanted to phone my sister and see her prior to her breaking the news to the entire family but he told me that she wanted to only have to say it once, explain it once before she passed away. I understood that this was her way of dealing with it and I went home promising not to utter a word to anyone. He told me that it was only a few hours before everyone would know and the entire family would be united in grief. I thanked him for telling me and gave him my word. I gave him a hug and told him that I was so pleased that she had found him, to share her final weeks with.

I sat alone in my flat for the rest the day, my mind in ruins, I cried for the whole day. At 5 o’ clock I sat in my car outside my sister’s house watching family members arrive. Everyone seemed so excited. It destroyed me watching them arriving and knowing that they would leave the house shattered as I had earlier. I left my car and bravely walked the longest walk of my life through that front door. My tears erupted the minute I laid eyes on my sister and I blacked out.

When I came too, everyone was so concerned and asked me why I was crying. Obviously I couldn’t say and rather stupidly told them that I was somewhat exhausted had watched an emotional episode of a television programme before I left the house. Of course everyone laughed. I told everyone I needed space and watched my cousins, aunties and uncles arrive and waited anxiously for my sister to break the news.

D quietened everyone down and told them my sister had an announcement to make. I put my head in my hands and when I felt my mothers hand on the back of my head the tears began to stream. That was when my sister then announced… “We’re Engaged!” Immediately I dragged D out of the house and asked him what the hell he was playing at. He explained his actions as a practical joke. Members of the family were furious with me as they thought I was jealous and attention seeking. My sister was devastated because I was “trying to ruin” things for her.

I realised that I couldn’t tell anyone about this because nobody would believe me. So I figured that the only thing to do was to forgive and forget. So I apologised to my sister and she forgave me but told me I would have to make amends with Darren for threatening him, so I agreed to go watch the local cricket team with him the following Sunday. The minute I sat in his car he was the old D again and I found it easy to forget what he had done to me the week previous. Before cricket, I had to run into Marks and Spencer for a ready meal that we could drop off at his Grandma’s before the game. We both went into his Grandma’s house. I had never been there. She seemed a lovely woman and was so grateful for the meal. She stood up and left the room to go and get D some money. While she was absent D got down on his knees and sniffed the seat that she had been sat on. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I don’t know what to do Mariella, I can’t speak to anyone about this, I’m so embarrassed and I can’t tell anyone because I am perceived as a jealous attention seeker by the entire family. Should I tell anyone? I can’t sleep because of this and I can’t eat because all I can think of is that look of deep satisfaction on his face after smelling the chair. I am at my wits end. Please, please can you offer me some advice?

Love from Leigh

I didn’t get a response from Mariella, ‘the Observer’s weekly agony aunt’. Cheers Mariella. I could have taken my own life! Call yourself an agony Aunt?

Dear John Leslie

You walked past me and you were wearing beige corduroy trousers with a dark brown leather belt which had a gold buckle, there were two holes to spare on your belt but there were evident signs of wear on the last hole suggesting that you had either borrowed the belt from someone who was larger than you or recently lost some weight. You looked very smart with your shirt collar sticking out of your navy blue lambs-wool jumper, although, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you could have done with a once over from a de-fuzzer. I don’t suppose you have one of those though do you John? I remember being surprised that you had, possibly, three days growth of stubble but then I thought that you were probably taking a break from the strict shaving regimes that are necessary for your television appearances. I could tell that you looked after your skin and moisturised regularly but suffered slightly with open pores. I have never noticed this problem on the countless photographs I have of you so I’m assuming that a talented make-up artist gave you some valuable advice on this matter.

I smiled and thought, thank God, he’s human when I noticed the small amount of sleep gathered in the nook of your left eye. You must have felt my stare because you lifted your perfectly manicured hand and as you smoothed out your light crows feet with your thumb you wiped away the offensive dried green residue with your index finger (there was a terrible wick on there John, I was worried it would become infected).

I followed you all afternoon and stood behind you at the ice-cream van, as you were asking for a Mr Whippy with a flake and nuts on, I leaned forward and deeply inhaled your scent. It was more than a smell John, it became a feeling! You may remember a fracas that occurred shortly after you had made your purchase as unfortunately I heard someone say something insulting about you and your relationship with Catherine Zeta-Jones and there was nothing that I could do other than punch her full-on in the face. I broke her nose and she suffered from severe concussion and it was then that we parted company as I was escorted from the fate by armed police.

I later discovered that your scent came in a bottle labelled Givenchy Pour Homme. Now I always smell like you. Anyway John I’ve got to go as my wife is calling me downstairs for supper. It’s my youngest son’s Holy Communion tomorrow and I’ve lots to prepare. I hope this has an effect on my son because I’m now estranged from my eldest son as he chose hairdressing over his religion and I refuse to have a gender-blender under my roof.

Please may I have a signed photograph of you because now my son is dead to me I have a spare frame on the mantle.

Dear Sandi Toksvig

I was wondering if you would be so kind as to send me a signed photograph because I have a hair appointment next Thursday and I’m always telling them about how much I adore your hair but they haven’t a clue who you are. Philistines, these hairdressers though aren’t they Sandy? They all drink alco-pops and eat Mcdonalds. I doubt they’ve heard of Sauvignon Blanc and Coq au vin. But that’s the difference between us and them Sandy. We are both culturally rich and surrounded by degenerate peasants.

So if you could please send the picture asap it would be most appreciated. I am going to a dinner dance on the evening and have bought a marvellous new outfit. My wife will be thrilled when I reveal my new image.

I got the photograph in time for my appointment but it is impossible to emulate the Tokswig!

Dear Fiona Bruce

My wife will celebrate her 50th Birthday on 5th July 2009 and I would love to present her with something really memorable and special. I have hired a marquis for the event along with the same band that performed at our wedding 25 years ago. As she is such a huge fan of yours I think it would be a wonderful surprise if, after we have done the speeches, we could bring out a large gift box which you could come bursting out of whilst shouting surprise at the top of your voice.

I know you’re thinking ‘no way’ but I am willing to pay a large sum in order to make my wife’s day as special as possible. I won just short of 19M in the lottery a few years ago and am basically asking you to name your price.

Thank you so much Fiona, you are a real talent and I look forward to hearing from you and wish you all the very best in everything that you do.

Love From Leigh

P.S May I please have a signed photograph if it’s not too much trouble.

Dear Dale Winton

Honestly Dale, my milk goes missing nearly every morning and I know it’s him because I’ve seen his wife climbing over the fence as I propped my letter box open and sat for a good three hours until I got proof. Not only that but one of my gnomes got smashed and the cat brought a dead mouse in the house which I know the neighbour must have given to her because this is so out of character.

Thanks Dale, I can’t wait to put an end to this nonsense and wipe the smile off his smarmy face when I show him your letter and prove to him once and for all that I am not stupid.