Cmpact Discs

My darling, Mr. Darling, You would seem to have lost several letters this month. You've lost an o from your title. Your t is missing. (Let's hope you don't starve on account of it.) We've yet to visit the Commens, but the Commons serves for the mean time. I fear the discs have slipped. It's the Devil himself to recover one of those. Inspector Spector from the Yard is on the case. He's passing parcels presently. We hope we find it. But should you find it, please tell twenty million people that it's now safe to come out from behind the sofa. Kind regards, Her Majesty's Inspectorate. My latest killing is: http://www.bookscape.co.uk/short_stories/human_sacrifice.php

Oh, and while you're at it, Mr Darling, could you pop round to my house (I'm sure you'll find the address lying around somewhere) and tell my daughter how silly Mum is to keep telling her she musn't give out any personal details whatsoever when she's online. She won't have to worry about that any more. The info is out there. Somewhere.

Darling Alastair, Al, would you kindly tell me what is the point of me watching all the time, if you're just going to lose all the information I get you? People are quite happy that I'm watching them, it's what other people find out that bugs them. Incidentally, I think I'll hold off on that for a bit - bugging I mean. Just until you get your act sorted out. Oh, and best wait on the ID cards, too. For now. Your Big Brother, George.