May-or May not
Dear Boris Johnson
I’ve been living in London for the past seven years. I didn’t mean to, but the signs on the tube are really confusing. It would be helpful if you could include landmarks like my house or the Londis just up the road. Seems obvious when you think about it, but I know you’re busy so try not to feel bad. All in all, I think London is quite nice, although you could have built it somewhere a bit warmer. Maybe think about that for next time. For now though, while you sit at your desk, on your bike, tossing your hair and translating your emails into Greek, perhaps you could consider this plea from a member of the uneducated proletariat, over whose wellbeing you so magnanimously preside.
Instead of building more houses, why not plant a forest of giant sequoia trees that everyone can live in like in Avatar? We’d need a dress code because Londoners obviously eat more burgers than the Na’vi. No judgement, just saying.
We should also set up some sort of dating scheme for all those charity people with clipboards. They all care so much about the starving donkeys with syphilis, or whatever, they’ll be happy signing each other’s direct debit forms all day. You could put them in some sort of enclosure.
While I appreciate the opportunity to pay a vast sum of money to fund the Olympiadic development of London, despite living three million miles from the nearest actual improvement, I realise that you must be suffering sleepless nights over the unfairness of it all and, frankly, I worry about you. To help assuage your guilt, I would be happy for you to come and reshingle my borders whenever is convenient. Not this Saturday though, because I’ll be out busking for council tax money. I can’t sing or dance or mime and I don’t have a monkey yet, so my routine involves a one-man reenactment of classic ‘You’ve been Framed’ moments. If you would like to help with this as well as doing the shingling, that would be okay too.
Firm handshake, fist bump, hair toss.