Sir Bob Jones
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I frequently receive nutty correspondence from strangers, such as a letter recently from a Murray Jones who described himself as an Investigative Reporter for something called Business Desk NZ, whatever that is. Murray wrote to tell me he’s “wondering if he could speak to me re The Taxpayers Union.”
Being a kindly chap I replied pointing out that there’s nearly 8 billion people in the world and I’m in bloody big trouble if they all start writing to me telling me what they’re wondering about.
This courteous response seemed to enrage him and he became insulting in his further unsolicited missives.
Still, I didn’t take it to heart, after all the poor bugger (or so he claimed) is a journalist, and thus a deservedly low-income spectator of life, subject to constant public odium.
Nevertheless, I also can’t help wondering how many other folk hear from him about what he’s wondering about.
Does he, for example, work his way through say the Gisborne electoral roll, pestering strangers telling them he’s been wondering about this and that about them? Does he perhaps bail up women in the street and tell them he’s wondering why they’re fat, or whether they’re wearing underwear or if their name is Agatha and so on? Does he visit the zoo and upset gorillas saying he’s wondering why they’re not parrots? The mind boggles at the possibilities.
One senses that ultimately the asylum awaits whereupon he can spend his days, even if in a straitjacket for staff safety, drooling away and demanding of his fellow inmates, they tell him whatever he’s wondering about them, and more horrific, that he wants to talk to them about it.
For sensitive chaps like me, it’s all rather alarming but by God it must be terrifying for the personnel of Business Desk NZ, assuming that such an outfit exists, not that I’m wondering about it mind you.
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