But this is.

I've been reading Richard Branson's autobiography "Losing My Virginity", which is very entertaining. For people of my age, Virgin is first and foremost about music. We remember Tubular Bells being the soundtrack to our student days, we remember the wacky ads in Melody Maker or wherever, we even remember Hatfield and the North. Every other album seemed to be recorded at the Manor or on the Manor Mobile; virgin artists included some very cool names indeed (they had Beefheart for a bit, they had Robert Wyatt, Ivor Cutler.....) But my over-riding memory of Virgin from my student days (even eclipsing discovering their shop in Newcastle one day and buying all the Stackridge albums) relates to their mail order business. Remember, before they had shops, let alone a record label, Virgin were a mail order record seller with a catalogue to die for. Well, I got the catalogue and found in the imports an album I hadn't known of, entitled The American Metaphysical Circus by Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies. Joe Byrd I knew: he'd had a group called The United States of America whose self-titled album had been a favourite for some years.

So, I ordered up my lovely leap-in-the-dark vinyl import and quivered in anticipation. After a couple of weeks I got an apologetic note saying that the record was currently out of stock and they'd get it for me ASAP. Which they did, about two weeks after that. (And it's ace, and I still have it.)

So far, so mundane and male-blogger, you're thinking. The point is that the apologetic note was so stylish, so memorable, that it turned what might have been an irritation into a positive event. I can still remember it almost verbatim (I'll get there...); it used to be stuck up on the wall of my room; and I must have told this story to just about everyone I know. I suspect at least one of my fellow students ordered a weird import just in the hope of getting such a missive himself . This is the kind of thing marketing gurus rave about, creating extra customer satisfaction out of your foul-ups.

OK, here we go. The original was a postcard, printed in italic script. My copy went missing some years ago, though it may turn up.

Esteemed Count/Countess,

So recherché was your order that we have not one in stock. Not a single copy graces the hand-carved mahogany shelves of this fine old family firm. Rest assured, however, that when our stockman finishes his spell in the dungeon we will have him dispatch you a copy with all haste.

Yours apologetically
Virgin Records

Branson's book is also, BTW, full of amusing anecdotes. My favourite is about when the record label had to drop some unprofitable artists because of cash-flow problems. One of those dropped was David Bedford (ex-Kevin Ayers sideman), who sent Branson a very nice letter saying how he understood he must be pretty unprofitable, bore Virgin no ill-will and wished them all the best for the future. He then penned a vicious diatribe to his mate Mike Oldfield, all about what a shit Branson was, what a rotten label Virgin was, and how Oldfield really ought to be wary of them. He spoiled this, however, by putting the two letters into the wrong envelopes.