Dear John

You know all those things you wish you'd said to his face? When you've been dumped via a stock letter that was something of a shock.  And you know you'll  never get the reaction you want.

This is my blog, after all, and this is what I said.  Quite what his reaction was, I'll never know.  Sad feeling really.

Thank you for your letter and my books.  I’m sorry you didn’t have the courage to phone me as requested, but then your letter was nothing but an exhibition of hubris.  Just in case you think I don’t know what that means:

 As for the pleasure in hubris, its cause is this: men think that by ill-treating others they make their own superiority the greater.

I’m so disappointed in you; I really thought you were better than such a missive.  Did you just cut and paste from your usual ‘dumping’ letter, slotting in the bits you though would make it sound more personal?  Goodness what cowardice; who did you think I was?  I’m perfectly aware you could turn particularly nasty when you wanted to, but I had rather hoped you felt differently about me.  It seems I was wrong.  I have no idea if anything you said was the truth; I hope some of it was.  I enjoyed our time together: I learnt a lot, and I’m grateful that at the end of this part of my life I know I that my marriage is part of my past, not a gash that scars my present.  You were patient and understanding, but then look what you were getting out of it: a woman who thought you were marvellous, despite your obvious flaws, and who was prepared to accept and cherish who you were, not who you hoped I thought you were.  And looked as good as I do.

Of course, the crowd on Facebook have been quick to rush to my defence, which is sweet, and if you have felt any ailments recently, it would have been from the power of their collective thought.   A few have wanted your number to contact you and let you know, in no uncertain terms, of the magnitude of the mistake you have made.  But for you it is not a mistake, and that they must accept.  I will never want to be a duty fuck, and if that is what I was on holiday, then you were wrong to get on that plane in Gatwick, wrong to pretend.  I can only hope that your desire to have companionship on holiday was genuine and my glorious inadequacy, and your failure to appreciate it, is your loss.  If you merely used me to have a holiday in the sun without the single supplement and guaranteed sex, then you are pitiable.

Next time, even if you feel it and know it works to bring a woman to heel, just don’t tell them when you fall in love.  Keep it to yourself, and cherish the woman.  Don’t be fearful of the demons.  Look how far I’ve come.  Could the same be said of you?

I will miss your company.  I could end with a sharp back hander, to somehow balance the appalling pomposity of ‘I will remember you fondly’ but frankly, let’s all get over that.  Sorry we can’t be friends, I’ve loved my time with you and the small part of your life and mine we shared.  I hope you weren’t unfaithful to me; I wasn’t to you, not in thought, word or deed.  And if you were, then it’s a relief you’ve gone before you mucked me up.

I’m including our pictures from New Year’s Eve and the video as promised.  May I have my Basics of Buddhism book back please?  I can’t imagine the karma coming your way is something to look forward to after your performance doing this when I had my mammogram.  The act of a coward.  Such a pity.  I thought you were better than that.  But then that’s the bit you showed me, not the whole man, it appears.

I hope you will be happy, write that book and find peace.  Stop worrying about your heart.  One good thing about the tactless and craven way you dumped me is my appetite has been curbed quite markedly.  That half stone I want to lose before skiing might be a reality, who knows.  That you won’t see it is sad, and perhaps one day you’ll reflect on the mistake you made, and if you’d had the guts to talk to me about the person you are and what you really wanted, I might see you with that much needed half stone off too.

I’ve included some money to cover the cost of postage, because after all I’ve always paid my own way, and I’d like my book back please.

Try and be more honest next time.  Sorry I didn’t get to speak to you.  Who knows, one day you might be brave enough.