People who really need to stop emailing me

1. Jaeger Online

Jaeger. Beautiful Jaeger.

It's not that I don't like you, you know that, don't you? I can say this honestly: I'm in love with you. (Well, parts of you. Not the ones that make you look like a school governor at the annual prize giving in 1989). We have a long history and I'm not going to lie, I think about you a lot, often late at night, when I lie in my bed, listening to the moths chewing their way through my M&S cashmere blend jumpers.

But you know it just can't happen. I mean, come on. We live in different worlds at the moment, you and I. You, with your peony print silks, me with my brown padded body warmer I inadvertently stole from Hackney City Farm five years ago, thinking it was a child's coat (is it yours? I will return it. Sadly, but I will). Sometimes it lasts in workwear, Jaeger, and sometimes it hurts instead. This is the latter.

I will not forget you. Maybe one day we can be together. I doubt it though. Be happy, Jaeger! I want you to have the best of everything. Run free, in your perforated leather shorts and leprechaun outfit (yeah, that one might have benefited from a little bit more thought. I'm only saying that because I love you).

2. Guardian Soulmates

Listen, Guardian Soulmates,

I know you say you only want to help. "We don't see you around here anymore!" you say. "Here are your top matches!" you say, trying to tantalise me with pictures of Weeble from Stoke Newington and Simon01 from Carlisle. "Weeble loves to cook!" you say. "Simon01 likes to curl up on the sofa with a good DVD and a bottle of wine". I don't want to be mean, but you are plainly misguided. I think you were meaning to submit Simon's picture to Sexy Executives rather than send it to me. As for "Weeble", he is swathed in orange fabric from head to foot. I am sure I have seen him parading around Carnaby Street in the daily Hare Krishna parade, his bejewelled money (? or not) pouch waving to the rhythm of the drums. I don't want to be mean, but you don't know me at ALL, Guardian Soulmates. Actually, scratch that. I do want to be mean. I hate do-gooders. Bugger off.

3. La Réserve Hotel, Geneva

La Réserve.

I don't want this to sound harsh, but I think you need to get real and stop mailing me. What we had? Sure, it was fun. But it was a three night stand in 2007 and it can't happen again. I'm just not able to give you any more now, or probably ever. You're gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but you smell like an ashtray and you have, like, really REALLY expensive tastes. It was great while it lasted, and I'll always think of the jellyfish shaped lamps in your spa café fondly. Have a nice life, La Réserve. Be cool.

4. The PR company who write to me thus:

"Hi Belgium,

I have not heard from you about our amazing offer for you to host these gigantic pictures of a bar of soap on your website in return for nothing, not even a sample sized bar of soap that you could regift to someone in extremis had you happened to forget their birthday. Could you let me know if you'll be taking up our excellent offer? Thanks Belgium,

Love,

Holly"

Dear Holly, or do you prefer United Kingdom?

The Kingdom of Belgium is delighted to hear from you, and I am of course very flattered that you consider me the mouthpiece of for 11 million of us.

I am sorry we have not replied to your kind offer of some pictures of soap to use on our website. We have been a little busy lately with matters such as attempting to halt the fragmentation of our tiny nation, beating those lightweights, Iran, in the governmental interregnum games, and berating Witloof Bay for being shit. I am even more sorry to have to disappoint you by telling you we will not be using your soap pictures, since we do not feel them to be a good fit with Brand Belgium. We're currently trying to reposition ourselves as a sort of gritty, dirtier Switzerland, so this wouldn't really be sending out the right messages.

Have you considered approaching Lichtenstein, Luxembourg, or, and this is a wild card, but go with me, Scotland? Anyway. Great hearing from you.

Love,

Belgium

5. The Innkeepers Lodge

Dear Innkeepers Lodge,

You have to stop and you have to stop now. What we did was wrong, very wrong. Your repeated attempts to contact me are in direct breach of the restraining order I have taken out against you. Do not think I have forgotten that night in Glasgow. The whole, no sheets, locked out at 3am in November débâcle.

Do not contact me again. Ever. I feel dirty just thinking about you.