Sir Jimmy Savile

Goodness, it's been a long time since I've sent a letter to anyone. I really must apologise to you all, but Tony (my parakeet) has been dreadfully ill. It's been a frightfully worrying time, but he seems to be pulling through now and it's time to continue my quest for an Aston Martin.

Whenever I think about Tony, my thoughts naturally drift to Sir Jimmy Savile and the extraordinary role he played in procuring my beloved avian life-mate. Realising I've never fully thanked the great entertainer/DJ and all round lovely jogging charity worker, I've decided to write him this letter:

Dear Sir Jimmy Savile,

you probably remember me, even though we've never met. Once upon a time, many years since past, I wrote to your excellent wish-fulfilment programme Jim'll Fix It. My request was a simple one, one I feel you could easily have granted to make a faithful seven year old fan happy. All I wanted was a parakeet of my very own. One I could love (appropriately) and name and stare at in a cage for hours on end.

Unfortunately, you chose to let some spotty oik play drums with Adam and the Ants instead. I was furious and in a fit of rage I vowed never to watch your show again. I threw away my cardboard 'Jim Fixed It For Me' badge (since you patently hadn't), I burnt my tracksuit top (which turned out to be a bit of a mistake since I was freezing during games the following Wednesday) and I gave up smoking cigars and drinking whiskey.

Actually, my mum was quite pleased about that last one since she felt a seven year old shouldn't really drink whiskey. Curiously, she never really objected to the cigars. To be honest, I think she's never really forgiven me for cutting holes in the armchair to create a secret drinks bar so I could pretend to be you.

Yes, you were my idol. You and Tony Hart, of course. I loved you and you betrayed me bitterly.

Or so I thought, until one day in June of 1997 when I found myself the proud and mystified owner of a brand new parakeet called 'Mr Snuggles'. I never really liked the name and to be honest he wasn't a particularly nice bird, not like my Tony; but I loved him just the same.

Imagine my glee upon finding the parakeet, complete with cage and cuttlefish, in my living room. How did this miracle occur, I asked myself? To this day, Auntie Doreen still thinks I bought him in a bout of drunken depression brought about by my wife leaving me - but I know better. Obviously I would remember buying my dream bird, the one old Mrs Aston Martin Fan (the sour-faced old trout) would never allow me to have.

No, there was only one possible explanation.

You.

My aging, slightly weird, silver-haired guardian angel.

You must have broken into my house and left Mr Snuggles in the living room.

By the way, did you take the money from the china kitten on the mantelpiece? I'm not upset if you did, I just can't remember spending it. Oh, and I lost my dad's cuff links that day too - not pointing any fingers, just asking.

Although Mr Snuggles turned out to be mentally unstable and you may (or may not) have stolen my kitten money, I instantly fell to my knees and wept for turning my back on you all those years before. I'm sorry for the hurt I must have caused you and the pain of separation. I'm even more sorry to have taken so long to write to you explaining how I feel; but I find myself in need of your help once more.

You see, I have a new 'Fix' for you to ... um, fix. I would like nothing more than to own an Aston Martin and have set up this website http://www.buymeanastonmartin.com/ in order to achieve this goal. Please, please, please could you fix it for me to own an Aston Martin? If you and your showbiz pals all donated a pound each to my fund, I'm almost positive I'd be cruising around in climate controlled comfort by the end of the year.

Please Sir Jim, please answer the prayers of a dying boy.

Actually - I'm not dying, nor am I a boy, but I thought it might help.

Yours with eternal reverence and gratitude,

An Aston Martin Fan.