I withdraw my job application

Yesterday I published a letter from The Bank of England inviting my re-application for the post of Governor. You may recall that my first application was returned to sender without serious consideration. Quite typical, I thought at the time. Although the incumbent's invitation somewhat ameliorated my sense of injustice I have to say that some of the advice I was given in that letter has forced my  re-consideration of the matter. Therefore I have sent off the following to Threadneedle Street. I publish it here in the sure and certain knowledge that, whether I like it or not, this exchange of correspondence is bound to be Wikileaked. After all, so long as a Prince's private parts are exposed to public view, closely followed (in time only, of course) by a Pricesses boobs, what hope or future for privacy?

Dear Governor

I thank you for your letter, but I shall not be reapplying to succeed you after all. I have reached this decision with great reluctance for the following reasons:-

  • Your aside concerning reserves of gold bullion lead me to make certain enquiries. I gather there is no gold in the vaults of The Bank, you and Chancellor Brown having sold it all and at prices roughly one third of those prevailing today. I refrain from asking the whereabouts of the money gained.
  • It has become obvious to me that the holder of the post occupied currently by yourself is by no means his own master, whichever is his Club. I have in mind the printing of money. What lunatic collection of banks has forced Mr Bernanke in the United States to announce the creation of four thousand million U.S. dollars each and every month for the foreseeable future? I have little doubt that The Bank of England will shortly be 'encouraged' by The City to follow suit. I have no wish to light a bonfire of the vanities with myself sitting atop it. However I do understand that the 200  printing industry jobs it will support are in part a justification.
  • My best suit of clothes is currently the worse for wear, having recently been slept in overnight after I was unlucky enough to miss the last bus home. (My five hours in the public bar of The Crown Hotel had nothing to do with it. On the contrary, my substantial intake of cheapest blend scotch whisky did much to help keep out the cold on the Inverness riverside.)
  • I would not dream of attending interview, as you suggested, minus my suede brothel-creepers as footwear.
  • I look out of my window here in the Highlands of Scotland and see the glittering waters of the loch, the ampitheatre of hazy blue hills, the dancing of trees in the breeze, the flight of an eagle and ewes with their fat lambs peacefully nibbling away at my garden's flowery borders. By way of contrast I think of the view from The Bank's offices in the heart of The City - please excuse the misnomer, for The City does not seem from here to have any heart. I see in my mind drunken young dealers of all three sexes staggering, raucous, from the City's champagne bars. I see the abortionate architecture of recent years rising above ditto of previous, I see people with banners professing their hatred of me and all I stand for waiting outside in the hope of doing me all kinds of ill. By way of wildlife (apart from said dealers) there is a single grimy cock sparrer sitting on my window ledge having lost the power of flight through excessive ingestion of motor fumes.
I am, sir, your obedient servant

p.s. Good luck with the nation's money to you on your retirementand and to your successor. My mother-in-law had a maxim: 'Spit in one hand and wish in the other and see which gets full first.' I commend this to you and him or her (or it,) as the case may be.

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