Dear fellow writebuzzers.

A couple of weeks ago I received a fax at my office, (doubtless one of dozens sent out), from a gentleman in Zimbabwe. He claimed to be acting for the estate of a deceased multi-millionaire and was looking for a secure way to move funds out of the country and into the UK. He swore me to secrecy as dark forces were at work and his life could well be in danger, (honestly, he really did say that). And asked only that I fax him back with my full bank details so he could share these untold riches with me.

The guy wasn't to keen on my reply and faxed me back almost instantly. It's not publishable as it consists almost wholly of expletives and death threats to both me and my family. Below, I gift you the cause of his ire.

Dear Robert.

My name is Muglus Dunday and as you know, you have just faxed me with a most interesting proposal indeed. Well! What an incredible co-incidence this is, for only last week a very dear friend of mind, Mr F Christmas, popped his clogs and in his will named me as sole beneficiary of his world wide distribution company.

Now although I am deeply saddened by his passing, I am duty bound to carry out his wishes and find myself looking for someone to help run this vast organisation. Thus, and because of your very generous offer, I believe you may be just the very chap.

Before you poo poo the idea entirely Robert, let me tell you that this is a most exciting opportunity. Although Mr Christmas only actually worked one day a year, both his brand name and his familiar cheery call of 'Ho, Ho, Ho,' were recognised throughout the whole of the civilised world and are of incalculable value. Indeed, my deceased friend's personal attorney, Mr S. Elf, believes the empire to be worth some seven hundred thousand trillion dollars and tells me I am the luckiest fellow alive.

There are of course just one or two minor details we need to get out of the way before going into business together, and I would therefore be very grateful if you would kindly forward the undermentioned requested information for my personal attention. As in your case, secrecy at this time is of vital importance as it would be unwise to alert the S.L.H, (that's the union of Santa's Little Helpers), to the deal. Miss Patsy Ixie, who was formerly secretary to Mr Christmas, has told me in confidence that the S.L.H. thought they were in for a bit of a result on this one and I imagine they are going to be dead dischuffed when they eventually find out what's gone down.

Anyway, I digress, so back to business and this is what I require from your good self.

1. Full details of your personal bank account. This must include account number, sort code and the date each month you get your wages of sin paid in.

2. Colour photographs of all your wives, (preferably topless, provided they aren't to fat or hairy).

3. A letter of approval from your well respected and humanitarian President Mr E Ba Gum, confirming you are a good citizen and not some nasty little Zimbabwean con artist, who would steal the false teeth from his dying mother's mouth if given half a chance.

One I am in receipt of the above I shall transfer the sum of two hundred and twenty seven trillion dollars and 85p to your account. Then by first class sleigh will send you the following treasured items from my friends personal effects:

One dozen of Mr Kiplings best deep filled mince pies, together with a large pot of long life cream, (It'll need to be long life where your doubtless going to end up mate).

A bottle of 1955 El Torturo Vino. This is the finest of Argentinian reds from Mr Christmas's cellars and has a taste all of it's own.

And finally, the keys to Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer's stable, as part of your new executive duties will be to occasionally warm Rudolph's arctic regions for him.

Trusting this finds you as it finds me;

Under a rock and out for the count with excitement!