Letter 1

From 'Dear Neil' - a series of tragicomic letters to Neil Diamond narrated by someone who'd rather have Neil as a father than the one she has.

Dear Neil,

You don’t know me, but I’ve listened to your songs for that many years now, I feel as if I know you. My da’ was your biggest fan, but mum loved your tunes too, though really she preferred Elvis, Tom Jones, Perry Como and that Engelbert Humperdinck, or whatever he’s called.

You probably won’t believe it, but I’ve got all your records. I even found a cassette of a home-made disco remix version of Cracklin’ Rosie in an Oxfam shop once. Sometimes I wish you’d do a disco remix of Hot August Night. I love that one Neil, we used to play it every August ‘cause that’s when mum’s birthday is. Mum’s birthdays were always big events - we’d have sparkling Lambrusco, salt and vinegar crisps and sometimes mum would even buy Indian pakoras if they were on special at Aldi. And we’d always have proper napkins, cake forks and side plates – well, we always pushed the boat out when it was mum’s birthday, Neil.

Once we’d eaten the pakoras, we’d have a slice of black forest gateau and the birthday candle flames would sway in the breeze like the palm trees in that Hawaiian movie Elvis made that time. Then we’d sit on the deckchairs in the back garden and stare out across the river at the ducklings paddling frantically behind their mammies. Sometimes mum would say, ‘See that? Even those mammies canna get a minute’s peace!’ And we’d all laugh, ‘cause it was true Neil, back when we were young mum couldn’t even go for a pee without me, my brother and my sister queuing outside the toilet door desperately waiting for it to open so we’d see her again. Back then we never wanted to be away from mum. Not even for one single second.

You’ll laugh when I tell you this, but I used to wish that you were my da’. The thing is, Neil, our da’ wasn’t much of a da’ and he wasn’t much of a man for mum either. Then one day after her sixtieth birthday, just like that, she packed her bags and left him. We unscrewed the lids off a few bottles of Tesco’s finest Lambrusco that night, Neil, I don’t mind telling you. Mum even ran down to Aldi and bought two packets of pakora and they weren’t even on special. That same year mum got a tattoo. Then a nose ring. Then came the pink hair. Then she got better and better at swearing and well, things just went from strength to strength after that.

But enough of me rabbiting on. It’s probably dinner time where you are and you’re about to sit down to a plate of those expensive chicken sausages with the rocket and pine nuts in them, or maybe a defrosted chicken schnitzel the shape of a heart with a bit of Heinz salad cream on the side. And if you’re anything like me you’ll enjoy watching the telly with your dinner on your knees.

But you’re probably wondering why I’ve written you this letter, Neil.

Come to think of it, I’m wondering why I’ve written it myself.

© ali whitelock 2025