Further to my note of the 4th of January 2010 in which I complained about the rubbish pair of Clarks Oxfords that had fallen apart on me (after very little wear, I hasten to add), I write to tell you of the fate of their replacements. Putting my faith (perhaps foolishly) in Clarks I bought another pair of Oxfords. After only four months the heel is already worn through, exposing an unsightly and impractical void within. They are rubbish shoes. They are rubbish Clarks shoes and I hate them and I am very cross with you, Clarks. Very cross.

That’ll learn them.

Thank you very much for your email. I’m sorry to hear what happened to you
and your Clarks shoes.

Please return your shoes to the shop, along with your receipt, so the manager can look into the problem, I can see from your email that this is what you were going to do and I hope the issue has been sorted out.

They went IN THE BIN with ALL THE OTHER RUBBISH.

Thank you for making us aware of this issue. I’m sorry we haven’t met your expectations on this occasion, but I do hope you and your family will continue to buy Clarks shoes and that we’ll be able to restore your faith in us.

Thanks, but no. I’d rather spend a month as the carnal plaything of a pack of vicious baboons than squeeze my foot into another of your abortive leather trusses.

Kind regards,

Rodti MacLeary

I shall endeavour to visit your Edinburgh presence at luncheon today and cause some sort of a scene, after which I shall purchase new shoes from an ALTERNATIVE HIGH-STREET COBBLER.

Yours angrily,

Mr Rodti MacLeary (barefoot)

If I were to run into a crowded public place right now – covered from head to toe in the most powerful plastic explosives available – and detonate myself to the detriment of numerous innocent bystanders, Allah would give me seventy two beautiful, yielding virgins to do with as I wished. SEVENTY TWO. Why, I expect I’d be saddlesore after the first dozen. As it is I’m stuck with one virgin, Virgin Bastard Media, and I might as well be dead for all they care. As part of my ongoing catalogue of complaints against Virgin Media grows I thought I’d share my latest letter to them with you, as you’re all so jolly lovely.

Enjoy!


HELLO THERE.

Despite experiencing numerous 'issues' from the very moment I entered into a business relationship with Virgin Media I have tried to maintain stoic and composed at all times. There does however come a point where the time for peaceful, amicable negotiation ends and I turn into a bawling, demented madman, screaming at the heavens for all I'm worth while shaking my fists in the air. That time is now.

I WOULD LIKE TO MOVE HOUSE PLEASE.

I WOULD LIKE TO MOVE HOUSE FROM 142 GLAROBATRA STREET, EDINBURGH TO 11 FRONDLECRUBE CRESCENT, EDINBURGH.

FOR SOME REASON CURRENTLY BEYOND MY KEN I WOULD LIKE TO TAKE THIS ACCURSED VIRGIN MEDIA TELLYBOX WITH ME.

I WOULD LIKE YOU TO FIX YOUR WEBSITE SO THAT I CAN REQUEST THIS HOUSE MOVE. THE WEBSITE THAT HAS SEEMINGLY SWALLOWED MY REQUEST EACH AND EVERY TIME BEFORE VENTING IT OUT OF WHATEVER STRANGE ELECTRICAL BOWELS IT HAS ALL OVER THE FLOOR OF THE INTERNET.

I WOULD NOT LIKE TO BE TOLD BY THE CALL CENTRE OPERATIVE IN YOUR 'HOUSE MOVE' DEPARTMENT THAT MY ACCOUNT, PREVIOUSLY IN CREDIT BY LOTS OF MONEY BECAUSE OF YOUR OWN INCOMPETENCE, HAS BEEN CLOSED FOR NON-PAYMENT. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. THIS IS WRONG. THIS IS WRONG IN THE SAME WAY THAT HITLER WAS WRONG.

I WOULD LIKE YOU TO KNOW THAT EACH LETTER TYPED HERE IN CAPITAL LETTERS IS ACCOMPANIED BY ACTUAL VOCAL WAILING, GNASHING OF TEETH AND REAL TEARS COMING FROM MY FACE AND COMPONENTS THEREOF.

Please either ARRANGE MY HOUSE MOVE or pick up your stupid crash-prone tellybox at your earliest convenience, lest I frogmarch to your offices (presumably still in The Gyle, Edinburgh) and let you hear the aforementioned anguished cries for yourself.

Kind regards,

R MacLeary
(now of 11 Frondlecrube Crescent)

Well yes I suppose I have been rather quiet of late, but I’ve been busy in my internets laboratory sticking bits of dead rabbits onto potatoes like some sort of sickening Mr Potato (Rabbit) Head thing. I suppose it’s all a bit of a secret, but it’s a scary secret and it’ll be rammed up your well-oiled internet pipes before you have the chance to politely decline.

Adopt the position.

Graham Linehan (yes that Graham Linehan) will be watching M Night Shyamalan’s ‘The Happening on Friday night. At 9pm on Friday night, to be precise. While simultaneously tearing it a voluminous new posterior void on Twitter with a vast coven of bastards from the internet. It promises to be mildly amusing.

More information here.

I am very angry with Virgin Media. Very angry indeed.

Dear sir/madam,

I write regarding [nameless drone]'s reply dated the 1st of December 2008, attached below.

What would have perhaps helped redeem your company in my eyes - eyes which have seen it as naught but a bewildering mass of shambolic incompetence since my very first day as a customer - would be if the £100 refunded installation charge promised to me had ever been applied to my account. Since it has mysteriously failed to materialise I now find late payment charges popping up on my account, and fully expect to have my service disconnected for the third time in as many months of service. I certainly have no intention of exposing my bank account to any Direct Debits while I am allegedly 'in credit', and had hoped as any sound-minded individual would that my credit would pay for two or three months of Top Gear repeats. Perhaps it wasn't meant to be.

Could you please have a quick look for my missing credit, perhaps down the back of your desk, remove that pesky late payment fee and then spend ten minutes thinking up a really whizzy reason why I shouldn't cancel my service, write a series of particularly scathing critiques of Virgin Media and publish them below a picture of Richard Branson with a pair of silly glasses and a moustache drawn on in marker pen.

Actually I needn't do the moustache.

I look forward to your prompt reply.


Idiots. I’m just glad I didn’t also take their broadband, telephone or life support services.