I received this from Mrs Trellis and reproduce it here without comment.
Dear Richard Branson, she writes, first of all, I want you to know how much the late Mr Trellis and I loved your Branson Pickle, a truly genial invention: it does for a piece of stale cheese in a sandwich what horseshit does for radishes. Howesomever, my reason for writing to you is not to praise your chuntney, but to ask you why on earth you named everything "Virgin". I looked the word up in my Tesco's Bargain School Dictionary and it says virgin
n. a who has no previous experience of a specified thing;
adj. in the original condition, unattained, untouched, never having previously undergone or been affected by the thing mentioned.
If that describes your airline and your trains, I am personally reluctant to use them. Mind you, I wasn't planning on going anywhere anyway. Unless, of course, you were looking for a mature air hostess......
I am not saying you are not a nice person, I just meant that after the pickle, I truly think you struggled a bit.
Yours imperviously Mrs Blodwin Trellis, Widow, no serious offer refused.
PS Get a haircut. The late Mr T was strictly a short-back-and-sides man, which gave him a certain military bearing. You look like Pooh Bear, only not so cuddly.