My So-called Life: I'm yours to treasure (only $654 a month)

I have just written a letter to the Franklin Mint, which, I should add, is no ordinary letter as it was created to satisfy the most discriminating of tastes and is guaranteed to bring you and your family pleasure for generations to come, largely because no one in their right mind will ever buy it off you. Here it is:

I have just written a letter to the Franklin Mint, which, I should add, is no ordinary letter as it was created to satisfy the most discriminating of tastes and is guaranteed to bring you and your family pleasure for generations to come, largely because no one in their right mind will ever buy it off you. Here it is:

Dear Mr Mint, or Frank, if I may

Well, Frank, forgive me for writing to you out of the blue like this. Certainly, I hope it isn't your time of the month, as I know what I'm like when it's my time of the month, and my next exquisitely adorned thimble is due. I go quite mad and, until it arrives safely, no one can say anything to me without my biting their head off or bursting into tears. In some ways, it's a terrible business and I'm even quite looking forward to my monthly, exquisitely adorned thimbles drying up, which, as far as I can work out, should be sometime in 2096. (One month, my thimble was a few days late, which gave me quite a scare, I can tell you. Thankfully, I eventually discovered it at the Post Office, where it had been returned because I was not at home. Still, I'm sure you can imagine how jumpy a skipped thimble makes someone of my age.)

Anyway, I think that, aside from anything else, you will at least appreciate that this letter has been lovingly written by hand to capture every lifelike detail. I'm sorry that it fails meticulously to evoke a bygone era, but I'm a busy person and find that, when something does fall by the wayside, it does tend to be the meticulously evoked bygone era. I bet you're the same, Frank. Sometimes, I think you'll agree, life is just too short to create an old-fashioned memory, even if it is hand-embroidered and fully poseable!

Now, I am contacting you because, since the Princess Diana libel business is over, I would like to give you my full permission to go ahead with a special commemorative Deborah Doll, which would, even if I say so myself, make the perfect gift and could be easily payable in 789 astonishingly large yet magnificently recreated instalments. I believe that this will appeal to all the thick people of Ohio, of which it is said there are quite a few. Shame they don't come in limited numbers, Frank! Only joking, in my own little timeless way. I can be quite the eye-catching tease, Frank, just so as you know. Sometimes, I can even be quite the eye-catching tease with Celtic-style flourishes. Once, I even managed to capture the splendour of a more opulent age, but that was very tiring and I swore at the time: "Never again."

You have nothing, by the way, to fear from my lawyer about copyright as he's a fat little man in Edgware who bores me stiff going on and on about mortgages, so the less anyone has to do with him the better. He also sweats a lot, which makes me think that he is not made of the finest materials, and is therefore not one of us. He may not even be lavishly accented in bronze, although I suspect he is fully jointed, as I once saw him waddle to the toilet.

You may ask, though: why Deborah Ross? Well, I am quite famous in Britain, which has been expertly sculpted by master craftsmen from big lumps of coal and then lovingly populated by people who eat their sandwiches in the car at beauty spots. Certainly, I am famous in my own house, which does meticulously evoke a bygone era, most particularly when lumps of Victorian plaster fall off the walls. I am known, here, largely for eating peanut butter straight from the jar, leaving Marmite smears in the butter, never putting the tops back on things properly, and mercilessly tormenting my partner and son about Wrexham FC, their football team, which looks as if it's going down the tube. The club is now unlikely to bring pleasure to generations to come, but then, it rarely seemed to bring pleasure to the current one. However, whenever I put this to my partner, he says: "What's wrong with you? Is your thimble due?"

Still, should you ever wish to produce a collector's doll of my husband and son, a tear in their eye would offer a nice authentic touch.

OK, as a favour, I've written a few words to go with the Deborah Doll copy in advertisements and on your website: "A magnificent collector's doll that captures Deborah's inner beauty [rather than outer beauty as, Mr Mint, even I would say that that would be pushing it a bit].

"Inner beauty confirmed by an affidavit that Deborah's liver is ravishing and her kidneys decorated with silver and gold stitching, faux pearls and genuine Jackie O satin.

"Inspired by an award-winning photo that would have been taken by the world-famous photographer Patrick Demarchelier if Deborah hadn't used the booth in Woolworths instead.

"Accurate in every detail, down to the top of her head missing, which is what happens when you can't get the swivel stool to go down and the flash goes off.

"Radiant in Matalan and on-the-shoulder George at Asda. No amount of acrylic spared.

"Comes lying on an incredibly lifelike stained Ikea sofa with fag burns.

"Fantastically true to life, with finger poised above peanut-butter jar and feet in odd socks. Includes tellingly reproduced kitchen cupboard full of tins of golden syrup with lids half-cocked.

"Act now and see her in person! Only $654 a month for generations to come!"

Lastly, Frank, I know you're scrupulous about "accurate in every detail", but might we just porcelain over the cellulite in this instance? Also, I refuse to be dressed in a shorts-style swimsuit as I bought one last year and you've never seen such an almighty and non-dainty explosion in the thigh area. I even frightened small children.

Yours, in true thimble-hood,
Deborah Ross

PS Should you receive a similar request from a Mrs E Rantzen, follow it up at your peril as she's gone bonkers since appearing on Strictly Come Dancing. Plus, there simply isn't enough chiffon in the world to make her frocks true to life in every loving detail.

d.ross@independent.co.uk