an open letter to television survivalist explorer Mr Bear Grylls

Dear Sir.
I have recently received a coat bearing your name, to wit Bear Grylls, over the right hand side of the chestal area.
The coat came to me as a Christmas present from a brother of mine.
Presumably your name is on it because it is a coat produced under licence, and not because my brother actually stole it from you.
Now see here Grylls.
This coat has a zip on the front but it only goes half way down.
I don't mean it is jammed.
I mean the track of the zip extends solely to a point at the median of the front of the coat where it terminates.
There is no way to open the coat like a traditional coat, unless one tears open the fabric itself.
Look My Grylls.
It's very stylish and all that but completely impractical as a coat.
I have to put it on like a jersey and remove it in similar fashion.
What on earth is the purpose of a zip on the front of a coat which only extends half way down?
The only possible use I can think of for it is when I want to provocatively display my man boobs for some lovestruck young waif sitting across from me in a cafe.
Ah Grylls.
They do run up the mountain paths like startled fawns.
Not the effect I want to create when displaying ye aforementioned moobs by the way.
But I digress.
Your coat has no pockets.
None.
Except for one little thing high up on the left hand side.
This would be of some use to me if I was Napoleon.
Which I'm not.
Yet.
Listen Bear.
Bear old pal.
Listen to me.
We're both working class.
We both hate the excesses of modern society.
The posing.
The preening.
The nights in luxury hotels.
My brother claims the coat cost him 89 Euros.
It was marked down from 240 Euros in a sale.
Just send me the balance, an 170 Euros, and we'll call it quits.
Cheers Guv.
James Healy
PS: My old mucker.