On writing a letter to The Man in Room 22 of the Reading South Premier Inn last Saturday Night

On writing a letter to The Man in Room 22 of the Reading South Premier Inn last Saturday Night

Dear The Man in Room 22 of the Reading South Premier Inn last Saturday Night

Hello. I am the man from Room 21 of Reading South Premier Inn last Saturday night and I am excellent.

You might remember me as the person who hammered on the wall shouting "Shut up you plank" as you banged and groaned away at your significant other like a paired of rutting walruses.

Four times.

I'd like to point out that I am not jealous or anything - any man who can make that much noise on his fourth turn around the block within a space of three hours deserves some sort of medal and a catering-sized jar of cream for his burning bell-end.

It is just that room 21 also housed The Frangrant Mrs Duck and the Duck childs, and even with the TV turned up to 11, we still could not drown out the banging, crashing and the mating cries of the New Guinean Dugong.

Or, as we shall call her - "Your girlfriend".

Yeah, look. Yes, we did offer a round of applause after the third bout of moaning; and we breathed a sign of relief when you both scuttled off home to your respective spouses at two in the morning, but there is one thing we'd just like to say.

Thanks. We got our money back because of you.

Pop by any time. You can stay in the shed.

Your pal,

Albert O'Balsam