Dear Connor ,
You are by far the most important person in my world. In the immortal words of S Club 7, “you’re my number one”. You are the first person I think of every morning, and the last one I think of at night. You are the Vernon Kaye to my Tess Daly, the Abelard to my Héloise, the Ant to my Dec, the Charlie McCreevey to my Mary Harney .
You’ve got buckets of potential. You are a nice person, who can make friends quickly and teach a kickass upper-intermediate vocabulary lesson. You are generous (on the rare occasions you have money) and giving. You are interested in people and you have a brain. You care about issues and about people. You have a great CV and a joie de vivre. You are entertainingly disaster-prone and you are able to laugh at yourself. You have dimples (sometimes) and cute little toes. You have attractive penmanship and a penchant for all things stripy. I find you both charming and endearing.
SO, GET UP OFF YOUR BIG ARSE AND DO SOME EXERCISE, STOP SMOKING AND FOR GOD’S SAKE STOP EATING SO MUCH CRAP. I’ve checked on deathclock.com and you’re going to die on June 2, 2039. Your life is half over. Suck. it. up. bitch.