I still remember that fateful day in the northern summer of 1993, when I first laid eyes on you as I cruised that beautiful store in Edinburgh and knew at once that we were destined to be together. You kept me warm in the treacherous climes of Scotland and England for a few weeks and then travelled home with me to Adelaide and took up residence with me in the chilly wilds of Melbourne, where, in the depths of winter, I continued to snuggle up with you as often as I could.
Over the years you have been faithful and low-maintenance, all a girl could wish for. You have been flexible and ready to fit in with whatever else was happening on the day. You have covered up for me on numerous occasions, softening, if not quite hiding, a multitude of my sins.
But I took a good hard look at you today, and I fear, my lovely one, that we have come to a parting of the ways. In the harsh fluorescent light of the underground meeting room with the malfunctioning heating and room temperature of -3 degrees Celsius, you looked thin, and old, and worn out, and for the first time ever, you failed to warm my heart or indeed any other part of my anatomy. You can no longer fulfil the role for which I made you mine on that lovely sunny day in Scotland, fifteen years ago.
You remain, however, beautiful in my eyes. And for that reason, I cannot bear to throw you out of the house. You are charged from now on with the important household duty of looking after the tortoiseshells and keeping them warm and snuggly. I know you will perform this task well, and I will be glad to know you are still near me.
With all my love,