During the Kentridge-Fluuegan Fest of 2003, it was a cleverly organised and minimally attended music festival held in the middle of a barren Amsterdam country road at three o"clock in the morning, I most tragically ran over two nuns. I was so embarrassed and duly punished, as three is the legal minimum in Holland. I also accidentally locked Jennifer in a small cupboard once and she didn't care much for that but the most nauseatingly misguided thing I did was proposing marriage to her at her father's funeral. It was quite a to-do, I can tell. And the priest was none too pleased but I think he never was. Mind you, our love affair flourished with abandon. We met each other's parents and they met each other and we all performed a striptease at a local nightclub. It was just as the flowers were blossoming on the trees that I had noticed something was amiss.
Never too long before the signs start to show; my house keys disappearing, the windows being boarded up, my car being burnt to the ground, all the photos of me with Jennifer along with her wedding ring and my personal belongings being strewn on the outside path. I knew that there was a problem somewhere. I stayed in five hotels that first night, then seven the next and two then three alternating on a daily basis for about five months after that before the letters started coming in. She said she was leaving me. That was it. And I didn't even get to say "ball bearings". Well, the letters were enough to tell me and I didn't need it explained so I rang her and asked what was going on. Jennifer told me that she was in the process of checking over our relationship and that she was most probably going to leave me, err, I think "high and dry" were her words. I was informed that a subsequent letter, arriving by post in fourteen days time, would shed some light on the situation and her evaluation of the situation as it stands. Ministers never were my favourite people.