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A business opportunity for delivering witty comebacks and withering putdowns

I HAD A BUSINESS idea recently. One of the reasons I am not rich is that I tend not to do anything about my business ideas, except to tell people in the pub. This one I'm so keen for someone else to do - so that I can avail of it - that I'm telling everyone, in the hopes that, in these recessionary times, it might be taken up. It goes along the line of the, now so antiquated it seems almost quaint, Kissogram. Not the full-on-stripping-lumberjack-at-your-hen type of Kissogram, but the old fashioned sort of Lovely Girl (or Man) who once rang doorbells in slinky or businesslike ensembles, gave a kiss then ran away.

My business idea is the Andanotherthingogram (dot com). It came to me a little while ago when I felt I had been rather shabbily treated by Someone. The shabby treatment was by telephone, and instead of ranting and raving, or even saying clever things, I just said "Oh, I see . . ." and hung up. At the time I thought I had, at least, preserved my dignity, but in the minutes (and then the hours) that followed, I thought of oh, so many things I should have said. One after the other. And I was sorely tempted, even a week later, to phone this Someone and say "And another thing . . ."

Anyway, the Andanotherthingogram idea is for The Company to offer services at various levels. The least expensive is to have an e-mail sent, from Andanotherthingogram.com, which, nicely and eloquently, says the things you didn't think to say until you were halfway out the door, down the street, back at your own desk, or simply staring at a silent phone while wrapping the idea of dignity around you, and hoping it will compensate for being dully inarticulate at a time when words really mattered.

For an additional fee The Company will assist in the composition of these messages. There may be a panel of experts available, but I have a feeling they won't have too much work to do - we all get so clever the minute the opportunity has passed. Anyway, the next step up in service is for The Company to send The Recipient a beautifully engraved and embossed card, in a high-quality envelope. Opening the envelope will reveal the legend, probably in gold cursive script: "And another thing . . ."

Inside, equally elegantly written, will come the message. Something along the lines of: "He knows it wasn't your idea."

"My friends all said I was too good for you."

"I knew all along."

"It's your loss."

You can be far cleverer, of course, especially with the sting of Shabby Treatment to spur you on. And if you get your text right, The Recipient may never know who sent it (if you want it that way). But you will. I think that The Company will not accept threatening, illegal, or offensive messages. Well, not too offensive. The aim, obviously, is to offend. Just a little.

And for the seriously pissed off, or for those with a taste for the dramatic, a Premium Rate Service will see a soberly dressed Operative calling to the home or workplace of The Recipient, asking for them by name, and then, smiling gently, with perhaps a hint of apologetic sorrow, they will utter the words "And another thing . . .", deliver their message, then turn and leave.

Government Ministers, so fond of sending out massive mailings, might recently have availed of The Company's services to send a card to 53.4 per cent of the electorate: "And another thing . . . You should have voted Yes to Lisbon; it hasn't gone away you know." Or perhaps the electorate might respond en masse to the Government: "You think you got away with it, but just you wait 'till the next election."

I got quite carried away with my idea. I even thought of other areas The Company might branch out into. There was Rentamum.com, where students, (usually male), could make emergency calls, say after a heavy night's drinking, and be visited by a motherly lady who would tut-tut at the state of the flat, turf out any undesirable overnight guests, tidy up a bit, make cups of tea, provide aspirin, cook a fry and, just before leaving, pop a casserole into the fridge for later.

Then there was the premium-rate phone line where a panel of experts (possibly the same panel as at Andanotherthingogram.com next door) would spend as long as you like teasing out the nuances and implications of "what he meant when he didn't call back" and other dilemmas. I'm unlikely to want to avail of these last two, though they would definitely provide a public service (not least to long-suffering friends, their sympathy worn decidedly thin), but the first - please, someone, invent it soon. I want to use it.