I can never relight my fire Gary - love ain't here any more

That that! Gary Barlow
Dear Gary,

This is the hardest letter I have ever had to write. There’s no easy way to say this… it’s over.

Our relationship has followed an age-old pattern. At first, I was ­absolutely besotted with you… you see, up until 2011, I’d just never thought of you that way before.

But then you emerged from your fat wilderness years, all made-over and suddenly hot, and I went weak at the knees. You were confident, dry, and funny. And did I mention hot?

It was a yes from me, even before the first yes from you. I couldn’t get enough of you, especially as I only
ever seemed to see you twice a week - on Saturday and Sunday evenings - and there were always
three people sitting right next to you and millions of others watching.

Then we had a trial ­separation I don’t remember agreeing to, before – funnily enough, exactly a year after I first fell for you – you came back. You were hot again, but it was less of a surprise this time and you still made me laugh, but not as much as you had 12 months before. There were less people watching, for sure, but still… the honeymoon was definitely over. We had another trial separation without discussing it, so you obviously felt the spark needed reigniting too.

Just before you returned the third time, I heard an awful rumour about you.

All relationships require compromise, but this really was a deal-breaker by anyone’s standards – you were a Tory, and you weren’t even trying that hard to hide it! I should have known then… but I gave you another chance. Love is blind, after all.

The shine had definitely worn off, though, and nothing you were saying or doing was helping the situation. You didn’t really make me laugh any more. I began to understand why Rylan had called you ­Bore-low … but still, I hung in there because I’d made a commitment to you.

Now though – I’m done. It’s not me, it’s you.

We’re at different points in our lives, Gary – I’m at a point where I believe everyone should pay the tax they owe. And you, it turns out, aren’t .

Any multi-millionaire who tries to weasel out of paying tax is lower than one.

Normal people, forced into jobs they hate just to make ends meet, cough up, so why should you - handsomely rewarded for a glamorous career you love – squirm out of doing the same?

It’s a slap in the face for every one of us – you know, the people who made you so “super-rich” that schemes are ­specifically designed for you to try and avoid paying what you should.

I’m ashamed for you… and for myself, because now I can’t imagine what I ever saw in you. What a fool
I was to believe that you were a decent bloke.

So goodbye Gary. Don’t try to contact me, I won’t change my mind. The simple fact is that I want more than you’re prepared to give – and guess what? The taxman feels exactly the same way.
Love,

Indifference,
Polly X

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