Your fiancée’s photo in the garden of the French Horn would have been perfect if she’d excluded the scruffily attired person on the left. If you’d been at the next table to me in such a fine restaurant I’d have asked the head waiter to remove you.

Peter Greeson, Berkshire

The only thing missing in the French Horn photo was the commode they’d just lifted you off. I’d like to know the name of the old folk’s home you’re residing in so I can send you a card. Iain Chapman, Marciac, France Sack your trouser presser.

Fred Beckett, Cheltenham

Can’t say I’ve heard of Messrs Caine, Moore, Mitchum or Lemmon, whom you mentioned last week. But Hymie Pockle I knew well. He used to cut hair in my corner barbershop, drive a cab, work the gaffs (markets) and take bets on the side. Everyone knew Hymie Pockle.

Michael Ross, North Yorkshire

Hymie Pockle came from the buildings in Stamford Hill. He used to go about with Humpy Hymie and Issy Walkabout. Humpy was a barber and Issy was a bookmaker.

Alan Gilbey, Middlesex

You’re confused. A woman doesn’t have bosoms. She has a bosom, which consists of two breasts.

Neil Stuart, Cumbria

Send letters to Winner’s Dinners, The Sunday Times, 1 Pennington Street, London E98 1ST or e-mail michael.winner@sunday-times.co.uk

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