I had no idea when I started to blog (what an inelegant term that is!) that part of the routine would be dealing with correspondence. I assumed that I would share my thoughts about various matters, and a grateful public would from time to time remember to thank me. I would graciously accept the wholly deserved tributes and carry on.

This has not proved to be the case. Not a week into the blog, and I found a very helpful comment on a post about Shakespeare, suggesting that I might like to buy some ultra fashionable beat enhancing something or others with dub enhancing properties, endorsed by Dr Dre.

“Ah,” I thought, “This must be what they call spam.” I had wondered what spam was when I noticed that when people made comments, I had the opportunity to mark them as spam or trash. I am not sure why I would want to choose between the two: surely spam should be trash. However, since I whole-heartedly approve of anyone who approves of me, I did not pursue the matter. I just approved the compliments, ignored the spam and carried on with my next post.

A few days later, I received a tempting invitation to purchase souped-up mega mix cool-sound headphones from Dr Dre. “I wonder if he also does verucca treament,” I thought, as I gaily pressed the destruct button.

Today I found something that had me reeling with amazement. A Burberry outlet had found time, between letting the burberries out, to read my blog. I wasn’t amazed that anyone in a humdrum, burberry-related job should want to skive and browse the interweb, but that they should consider all the points I make was most flattering. I read on and found that this discerning person had decided that all my points are convincing and will definitely work.

I should just take a moment to save you the effort of scrolling about, and tell you that the points I make cover everything from the splitting of the atom to making nutritious dog snacks. To have someone consider all the points I have made in the last three weeks and find them all convincing is a truly uplifting thing. My husband reads them and says things like “You’re crackers, you know!” and “How long is this going to go on for?” He has no qualms about misplacing prepositions, and has therefore undermined his credentials as a critic, in my opinion.

I read on, intrigued to know what points in particular had impressed my outlet reader (please, do not get side-tracked onto stool sample jokes when I am talking to you) had found relevant and helpful. I was surprised to find that he/she had taken time out from packing and dispatching imaginary fruit to take an online tutorial in constructive criticism, and was following the encourage – criticise – pat on the head formula.

It seems he thinks my posts are a little too short for novices. I was ready to spring to my own defence, with an observation that my posts have been getting longer and a volley of suitable statistics, but I realised that such an attitude was going to get me nowhere, so I read on. Could I please lengthen my posts from subsequent time, and thanks again for the post.

I debated sending this self-appointed critic a response of such arctic but sublime civility that he would not realise that his comments had me somewhat miffed. He would go about his outletting duties, eagerly awaiting my next life-enhancing outpouring, never even suspecting that I had him marked down as a troublemaker. After a long shift hulling the mythical burberries, he would tell his companions at the Ferret and Mango gastro pub that he was in correspondence with El Perro del Destino and that his observations were gratefully received and his suggestions implemented. They would sip their cocktails and make suitably impressed comments, all the while suspecting that he was deluded. After all, they would think, why would a literary giant wish to correspond with a purveyor of fictitious fruit?

I decided that magnanimity was in order. I did not feel quite sublime enough to approve his comment, but he will probably think it was lost in the ether, never suspecting that it has gone the way of the Dre into ignominious oblivion.

In any case, today I have something more important to do than to respond to criticism. I have received notification that my late Uncle, William James Elperro, most recently of Teleweyo, Botswana, has left me a considerable fortune. I must check my filing cabinet and find a few details to send to his executor, Mr Philip Mugabe. In a few days, I anticipate I shall  be writing about the joys of donating huge amounts of money to charity.