Dear Find-A-Wife Dating Agency

It is with the utmost regret that I write to inform you that Catherine (that horribly rude, obnoxious and arrogant woman you fixed me up with) was not my type at all. Consequently, I have now divorced her on the grounds that she was unable to give me the son and heir I so desperately need – especially if my Royal line is to continue.

Incidentally, I think that if you take a very close look at your records, you’ll probably find that Catherine was once married to my now dead elder brother. She did actually infer as much with her constant references to “King Dick” as she so quaintly called him, even though he never was a King and his name was Arthur, not Richard. Such though, are the eternally mysterious ways of women. What strange creatures they are.

For some reason, the Catholics didn’t take too kindly to the divorce and, as a result, I’m now getting a bit of stick from the Vatican, which is a bit of a cheek really, because the head honcho there (Julius II) isn’t exactly whiter than white – there are one or two skeletons in his papal closet, I can tell you. I can’t go into too much detail, but if I just restrict myself to saying that the skeletons are male and they don’t want to come out of the closet, I think you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about, won’t you?

Anyway, as far as my marriage to Catherine was concerned, it just wasn’t a satisfactory arrangement for someone of my immense social standing. As a result, I am forced to request your confidential services once again. If you could go through your files and try to find someone suitable for me, I would be eternally grateful.

Your King

Henry.

P.S. A non-Catholic brunette, 38-24-36, possessing a very outgoing personality and with interests in music and leatherwear would be most acceptable.

Dear Find-A-Wife Dating Agency

Once again I am writing to tell you that (sadly) things have not worked out between myself and the very outgoing bride you recommended.

Anne was fine initially, but her constant dalliances with my servants, my Generals and (more ominously) with my Treasurer, left me with no alternative but to put an end to it all.

I suppose things all came to a bit of a head when I (the caring husband that I am) decided to amble in to her chambers and present her with a posy, only to find her dancing in nothing but a leather (catgut is apparently out this season) thong, whilst being accompanied on the lute by my court composer, Elvis Greensleeves (a name to watch out for in the future). Naturally, I was a little taken aback by this behaviour and asked her what she was doing. She informed me that she was modelling for the underwear section of a mail-order catalogue. I later found out that some anonymous and unscrupulous swine had sent the resulting pictures to a popular soft-porn periodical, where they were subsequently published in the Reader’s Wives section.