In your absence we all had a meeting and decided we don't love you any more.
All those letters we wrote to you, those times you didn't answer the phone, or were 'washing your hair?' And you think you can just waltz back in here and everything will be like it was before? That glorious summer sailing a narrowboat on the
Canal de Midi? Those stolen kisses by the fountain in Salzburg? That night of fumbling, breathless, youthful passion in Zihuatanejo? It's in the past, Donald. It was painful, the way just left us without a word, and those wounds took a long time to heal. You want to open them again? You can't go back. We've all moved on. We're different people now.
Only joking! Hiya, mate.
