Les J Curtis (DW 6 January, letter headlined: Qualifications are the best weed killer) must, unwittingly, number himself among those with skull-revolving inferiority complexes and an innate inability to ride above the ruck.
My initials are all in front of my name and 2i recently came second in a national design competition [that of designing a hoarding for British Land’s Corn Exchange site in the City of London].
Cowboys by definition – muddy footwear, stubby 5B pencils, Mesozoic English, the imagination of pre-Columbian traffic wardens, the concept of a font as something used in the service of baptism, the incapability of arriving on site on time on song, and so on – do not survive. They implode, they self-destruct. Kersquish!
A pitch is a promise to deliver. There are no second bites at these cherries.
Mr Curtis need have no fear; why does he, one wonders, exercise himself so flappingly?
It is nothing, necessarily, to do with qualifications. The weed killers, in no particular order, are:
Cowboy fertilisers are:
Beer on the breath
No spare wheel
The tendency to expectorate without averting the head – much.
The market decides who survives. I am sure it will agree that Mr Curtis should, and we wish him well.
Jonathan M Nokes