Dear Amberly,

Pull cupid’s arrow out of your arse for a second and think this over more clearly. I hate mushy gushy rubbish, so for the meantime, keep your girlish squeals to yourself, dearest Amberly. I do not love you, or Ashley or anyone.

I don’t even particularly like myself for that matter. I still hate you Amberly. Remember that next time you have some domestic fantasy.

Other than that, things are terribly lovely here. Matt had a party last night and there are various unconcious party-goers sprawled out quite comically on the floor. I now wish that I had partaken in the festivities, but alas there was no scotch, which really ruined my whole night.

How’s the island now that you are prancing about with dearest Alec on your toes? Is your mother just about to explode from the tension? I hope she really pops.

I must go, the zombies are waking.

Yours Truly,

Kingsley