An Open Letter to Sir Tom Jones: don’t RIP.

Dear Sir Tom,

It’s not unusual (sorry about that) for you to be righteously indignant about your recent sacking from The Voice recently.  Far too many of us know that feeling of creeping invisibility which stems from passing over the employment equator which marks our journey from being ‘useful human being’ to ‘senile old fool who is a drain on everyone around them’.  

What’s new pussy cat? was my initial reaction though (sorry again) to your news. It was perhaps inevitable that you’d join the swelling ranks of people who, on one day gainfully employed, find themselves the next day proclaiming ‘I’m not dead yet!’ in the best Monty Python and Holy Grail tradition as the young men and women behind them in the talent queue, unceremoniously dump their unwanted cargo in any port in a storm that will have them, before they set sail on the high seas of their own careers.

A green, green grass of home does beckon though Sir Tom, (sorry for the third and final time) and it won’t involve you putting your feet up and using the ‘R’ word on TV chat shows.  My mum after all has just turned 90 and has written her first book. The composer, Thea Musgrave is turning 100 soon and still going strong.  I see you still having the time and energy to set up a proper conservatoire for singers ( of all ages) which would add to your legacy over the next fifty years at least.

That will really burn down the house for those younger sex bombs out there. Kiss kiss.

Sorry not sorry.