Dearest Joanna Pumpkinface Grieves,
It has come to my attention that our time in the sun has turned to heavy showers and wild wind.
I am not certain whether this is some sort of allergic reaction on behalf of the meteorological society or the Earth itself rebelling against our brief whirlwind affair.
It may not be anything at all to do with the weather. In which case I apologise profusely for the metaphors.
It could well be that your deep orange complexion and crudely carved expressions are abhorrent to my sensibilities, putting me off my afternoon sherry.
Whatever the reason, it’s time for us to part ways. You are out and Catherine Jason-mask Smythson is in. She sounded delightful during our written correspondence, with her wicked sense of humour and talk of hunting.
Barnaby Wet-plop-scavenger-swine-teeth Wilson.