Be my cyber Valentine. There’s chocolate and jiggy involved

Dear Ms/Mizz/Mrs/Madam Jen Jen

Please forgive my gauche salutations. The British postal system is not that which it once was, and by the time this letter reaches you it is entirely conceivable that my manservant may have been convinced to join the esteemed institution of matrimony. Indeed, after having finalised his severance package, I fear he may even have become the victim of one of those tragic accidents that seem to accompany your presence.

I was initially inclined to say that your last letter has caused some disquiet in the Trawler household, but as my manservant is currently keeping you entertained with, amongst other things, fabrications about how I have fallen upon hard times and the only companionship I can depend upon after his departure is that of my life-size doll-cum-mannequin, I suspect you would hardly believe a word I say.

It seems that, once emancipated form the shackles of my employ, my manservant has discovered an inability to ‘keep stum’ (the help are such tittle-tattles). ’Tis a sorry day when one can no longer depend on the professional discretion of one’s minions to ensure what happens in the Trawler estate remains in the Trawler estate.

I will admit that once, and purely to relieve the tedium of waiting for the post man to arrive with suitable replies to my Valentine’s appeal, we once re-enacted the Oliver Reed and Alan Bates naked wrestling scene in Women in Love. Queensbury rules were somewhat adhered to so if he is now attempting to assert that it was a cunning hors d’oeuvre to a homoerotic repast, I assure you, dear lady nothing could be further from the truth. Besides I do recall that at the time his only ‘protestations’ was a girly whimper.

I will also acknowledge that other gentlemen may recoil in disbelief on hearing of some of his more untraditional contractual obligations, but it would seem foolhardy not to take advantage of the unique talents of one who used to ply his talents in some rather questionable places. Suffice to say, I now know that Chippendale is not just synonymous with sturdy furniture.

Others may suggest that incidents like these may indicate that my Valentine’s entreaty is rather disingenuous. They may even venture to imply that the JC Gentlemen’s Club is not all that it purports to be. But what do they know?

Oh the calumny of it all! My indignation at these scandalous rumours has caused me to digress. I’m merely writing to forward the last of my manservant’s possessions. On casual inspection of these items I can now identify why he has been so remiss of his official duties, the man was obviously pursuing extracurricular activities as PVC clad mounted police man. Please find the following herewith:

2 faux leather riding crops
1 Gimp mask
1 pair of handcuffs

Best regards,

Rusty Trawler

P.S: Please tell me more about your good friend Ann Summers. My manservant often mentioned her in passing and she seems like the kind of lady I ought to endeavour to make an acquaintance with.