Not really so urgent

Not really so urgent

Sonia Kelly

CRASS is defined as ‘grossly ignorant, stupid and vulgar’, and this certainly describes the latest promotion literature from Reader’s Digest.
Out of this ‘urgent’ envelope of apparently vital importance came various documents, the most glaring being headed with my name and stating that this ‘happy resident of Westport has won a stunning Peugeot 407’. I am evidently going to be presented with the keys at a gala reception about which I will be able to regale all and sundry for ever more. Plus, of course, the joy of impressing the neighbours when I drive it home in triumph.
Presumably the excitement of this announcement is calculated to blind me to the postscript that the possession of this celestial wagon depends upon me saying yes to the purchase of their latest book. Then, when I do eventually notice it, I will have been so carried away by the  divine vision that ‘yes’ will be automatic.
Do these promoters really imagine we don’t know that 10 million other people have got the same sales guff with names changed accordingly? What they can’t know is that in me they have hit on someone particularly unreceptive in that cars (other than Tiger) have absolutely no appeal for me, and the thought of a gala reception sounds worse than a spell in prison.
I mean, why should I want another car, when Tiger is going strong? I like everything about him – especially his new sun visor, so kindly donated to him by a reader of this column after learning of the difficulties he was experiencing with the winter sunshine and, of course, his individual number plate, TS, meaning ‘Tiger sizzles’.
What I do not need is a vehicle plumbed with all the latest technical gadgets ‘with the local papers running features on my win’. (If push came to shove, I could write them myself!)
All of which is not to say that these Reader’s Digest books are not beautiful. I have, indeed, a number of them and they are usually pretty tempting. The latest one, for instance, tells you how to turn ordinary items into extraordinary money savers. For example, how to shine your shoes with a banana skin, how to clean artificial flowers and revive wrinkled apples, remove lipstick from glass … The trouble is – and I speak from experience – you look at them once and they then go into the bookcase, never to be opened again.
But this time, all hint of temptation was nipped in the bud by the announcement of my win. Previously the accompanying letter of cajolence (is there such a word?) used to be signed by one Tom Champagne, and this, at least, lent a certain air of style and elegance to the proceedings. Now the signature is unreadable – looks a bit like ‘Grouch’, most unsuitable. Sometimes, though, Tom Champagne would include a fake cheque in the correspondence made out to me for thousands of pounds, which shows that the notion of a gullible population hasn’t changed with the PR person. But that was a good deal less crass than the lure of a Peugeot. (Anyway, I am never quite sure how to pronounce this word, which adds to its undesirability). And, really and truly, I feel that my neighbours are more likely to be impressed by Tiger’s gallant longevity than by anything so new and – yes – crass!