Some of you may recognise, or at least see the influence in, my chosen pseudonym.
I first met the gorgeous Vole two years ago. Our trolleys passed in a lonely supermarket. I had tinned soup and cheap wine. He had fresh vegetables and organic meat. And cheap wine. I looked longingly at his innocent eyes and saw, for a second, into his soul. I could see how much it hurt him that large corporations avoid paying tax via an intricate system of money transfers.
One day, the Vole will sweep me away to a little wooden cottage on the Norwegian fjords. I couldn't work up the courage to talk to him that night but I did follow him home, and the next day to his place of work, and later enrolled on his English degree.
He taught us about Shakespeare and poetry by playing us a clip of the popular BBC sitcom Blackadder in which the grumpy protagonist thinks he is homosexual but it turns out that the man he thinks he loves is really a woman. I saw straight away that this was a message to me. That the Vole doesn't love Shakespeare. He loves me.
In our cottage we will read the memoirs of labour politicians and eat cheese. Every four years we will vote socialist together. Our children will be named after Go Betweens' albums.
To Vole, with love, x
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