Please don’t take this personally, but I wasn’t very pleased to see you again this morning. I’ve had five days of sleep and sunshine and books and beautiful things, and wasn’t ready to come back to your alarm clocks, air conditioning and angry authors. I know you pay for our flat and petrol and the occasional Tesco Indian Meal for Two, but this relationship isn’t really working for me.
Could we be penpals instead? It’s not you – it’s me. Oh, ok. It’s mostly you.