I am Me, and not Mr Ingrams
Sir: I read in that scurrilous gos- sip-sheet written by one calling himself Mr PHS (presumably after Printing House Square, where I understand the Times is printed; and presumably soon, therefore to be sacked and replaced by Mr GIR, after Gray's Inn Road, whence for property deal considerations our august journal is soon, I also under- stand, to be translated) that I was not myself, but was, instead, Mr Richard Ingrams, who edits Private Eye. This piece of passing off is most impertinent. Also, Mr PHS would seem to infer, first, that my noticing the proliferation of the Yellow Toad Flax in Oxfordshire, is to be taken as a faulty piece of information; and second, that you, sir, although blameless in this re- gard, are not likely to continue in the SPECTATOR what Mr PHS him- self considers to be a promising cor- respondence based on the rhap- sodic piece of the apparently colour-blind Christopher Booker. I would like your assurances as to this, and meanwhile, I trust that you, sir, will accept my assurances that I am, indeed, none other than Michael Bassett,
The Old Vicarage, Asthall, Burford, Oxfordshire
This correspondence is not now closed.—Editor, SPECTATOR.
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