Jilted John

A post valentines’ reading in Clerkenwell this week … an event full of live dumpings-by-text, songs of heartbreak and Dear John letters. Here’s mine …

Dear Johns


We need to talk

dear John Cusack.


This relationship has crashed and burned. It’s dead in a ditch

dear John Malkovitch.


I’m not giving you another chance to blow

dear John Galliano.


Tell me why you’ve got two phones

dear John Paul Jones.


So I’m jealous. Jealousy’s not my fault, d’you hear

dear John Paul Gaultier?


The flower said ‘he loves me not’ when I picked off all the petals

dear John Nettles.


I’ve seen backs less hairy

dear John Terry


I’m bored of you. There are other boys I’d like to see, other blokes

dear John Noakes.


I’ve bundled up all your back issues of Classic and Sports Car and left them in a bin bag on the back step

dear Johnny Depp.


There’s absolutely nothing I can say to you now

dear John Cougar Mellencamp.


In every comic novel of the 1930s, there’s a stock flighty female character with red lips and long beads who leaves her husband before the ink is dry on the marriage certificate and she’s always known as The Bolter. That’s me

dear John Travolta.


That thing you do, that’s not okay

dear JFK


I cheat, you cheat, he cheats, she cheats

dear John Keats.


You don’t like my manners. Sorry

dear John Stammers.


Your silent sulks give murder rage

dear John Cage.


I can’t stand another evening listening to you banging on about your best mate, do you get the jist

dear John the Baptist?


This is going to hurt

dear John Hurt.


One of us has to go

dear Jon Snow.


It’s not you, it’s me

dear John C Reilly.


Dear John Woo

It’s not me, it’s you.


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