Dear Jarvis,
I have done my time in fields for you and your band. We are now older, wiser and in posession of a much more expensive wardrobe of fanciful fashions having long ago exhausted charity shop retro chic in our youth.
My jeans are now by Biba and Westwood and I have no wish to sit on my bottom in a field somewhere, somewhere in a field in London. And if someone stands on my Westwood squiggle print wellies I may loose my cool and have to kick them.
On the subject of London. We are all Yorkshire born and bred are we not? Proud of our heritage and yet still bizarrely taking part in the outdated practice of fleeing south for our culture. Let me introduce you to the art in Tate Liverpool sometime, and then perhaps you can toy with fanciful ideas of playing at home rather than away.
So, now, in the revisiting of times from the 1990s I think the time has come to explore the idea of indoor productions within the glorious scene of Yorkshire in which I can re-aquaint myself with your music.
How about it? Ditch the Hyde Park re-union gig and come home. In nice clothes. Without worrying they will get wet and muddy. I promise to be there as long as I have no prior gig clashes.
We can even re-write the lyrics to part of one of your songs. I can hear it now, floating on the winds of change...
I await your answer in the gig announcements.Mother, I can never come home again
'Cause I seem to have left an
important part of my brain somewhere,
Somewhere in a hall in Sheffield.
Sincerely,
yours.
(and Cast's... and Space's... and also belonging to the Lightning Seeds. Well, let's just say I get around a bit, just as I always did. But there's love and a Yorkshire Pudding awaiting you when you return)
....from the cool breeze that rises from the soft lit waters. 
...but when I dance through the night it is these ethereal crystal embroidered angel boots in which I flamboyantly yet gracefully turn.
