Category: Letters

It is with a heavy heart, or a heavy lunch, that the Review announces the end of its printed edition. Production costs have risen, circulation has fallen to 41 readers, and 38 of them were using our pages to line a litter tray. The remaining three include the editor’s mother, a lady in Stoke, and a man who we suspect is a fish.

From the winter issue, the Review will be exclusively online, readable from the comfort of a warm laptop, which we endorse. Existing subscribers will be refunded in full, at a rate of $0.50 per paw. Those who wish to continue receiving the Review by post may write to the editor, who will not reply, because he will be asleep in your envelope.

The Review rarely prints correspondence from dogs, and when it does it is with a sense of sorrow. Yet the following arrived on Monday, scrawled in what looks like gravy, from a Mr. Barnaby of Elm Terrace: “Dear Sirs, I take issue with the word ‘tiresome.’ I am a good boy. Yours, Barnaby.” We were moved, briefly.

To Mr. Barnaby I say: you are a good boy, and you are tiresome. Both can be true. I recommend you read a book, possibly one without a ball in it. You will find that criticism is not the enemy of love but its gruff doorman. Barnaby is cordially invited to the Review’s autumn party, where he will be kept on a very long lead, in the garden, behind glass.

In our August issue we described the sofa at Pennyfeather House as “tasteful.” It is not. It is a sofa, and it is blue. We regret the error. We also stated that Mr. Alaric Tuttle’s meow was “distinctive,” when it is simply loud, and that the cheese platter at the Brindle Society dinner contained “at least six cheeses.” There were four, and one was a candle.

Readers have asked us to apologise for the phrase “a dog, but in spirit only.” We decline. We will, however, note that the dog in question, a Mr. Barnaby, wrote to say he found the description fair. Finally, the Review wishes to clarify that its editor did not “fall” from the pantry shelf on the 14th. He descended, with intent.

Following last month’s review of the Tuna Counter at Marlowe’s Fish Hall, we received 212 letters, 211 of which were the same letter. The lone original came from a Mr. Hector Dunmow, who asks whether it is “fair” to call a tin of tuna “a flat pink sermon.” It is. I stand by it and I stand by the sermon.

Mrs. Imelda Vane of Grove Street wonders why we did not mention the water chestnuts. The answer is that there were none, and there is no use mentioning an absence unless you are paid by the word, which we are not, because we are not paid. A reader signing off as “Gravy Enthusiast” asks if the editor sleeps. He does, mostly on the letters.