A solution for Ex Lovers

I’m rubbish at letting go.

Great for hanging off cliffs, a pain when it comes to splitting up with people.

The problem is, although I know it hasn't worked between us, I don’t really want my ex's to go out with anyone else. Ever.

I dread walking into a pub/restaurant/library (they could be anywhere) and seeing them with another bloke. Especially if he’s better looking than me.

Don’t get me wrong, I want them to be happy. Just happy in a celibate kind of way.

I imagine I’m not the only person who feels like this which is why I want to share my radical solution with you.

Last week, I built my ex-girlfriends a nunnery.

I bought a plot in the (very) deep countryside and set to work. It’s a beautiful place, the stuff of fairy tales, where I hope my former loves with live a life of blissful chastity.

The nunnery has everything a woman could want. A pretty garden. A Body Shop. Every DVD box set of Sex And The City ever made.

At its heart is a small chapel. If you peer through the old oak doors you’ll see a stunning stained glass window, a row of twinkling beeswax candles and a huge picture of my face.

Its here the ex’s will sit in quiet contemplation, pondering what they’ve lost. Occasionally, they’ll glance at each other and sigh.

Of course, this idea has drawbacks. Investing in property in these credit crunch times is a financially risky move.

But, more importantly, how do I get my old girlfriends to come and live there? I’ve spent my bribe money on building it, I don’t know any gangsters and my kidnapping skills aren’t really what they used to be.

It’s a wonderful place though, I don’t know what could stop them wanting to go. I’ll just give them a call and use my charm. I bet they’ll really appreciate it.

“’Ello you” I say to the first ex I ring, sure she’ll fall my flirty tones

“Erm, hello. Who is this?”

“Anton! Don’t you still have my number?”

“Well, yes, I mean no, I mean I kind of lost my phone you see….”

“Right. Well. Do you fancy becoming celibate and living in my nunnery?”

The phone goes dead. I adopt more cautious methods with ex number 2

“Hey, so, long time no see, how you doing?”

“Fine thanks. I’m engaged!”

“Do you want to come and live in…. Engaged? Right. Well. That’s great. Who to?” I say in a voice so casual it's become an octave higher.

“To Steve, you remember, that guy we used to hang out with….”

“Steve?” I interrupt, calmly. “STEVE???”

“Anton, we split up four years ago…”

“FUCKING STEVE!!!”

Once again, the phone goes dead, and I’ve not even pitched the nunnery idea to her.

Ex number 3 gets a direct approach

“Hi Its Anton, I want you to come and live in my nunnery because its too painful to think about you with anyone else”

“Anton, I’m married and I’m pregnant”

“Its got Crèche facilities….”

Its been a complete disaster. I’ve found out so much stuff I really didn’t want to know.

And my nunnery is empty.

I pace up and down its deserted gardens. What a waste of time. Why do I secretly wish that every girl I go out with still has a candle burning for me, even though our lives are perfectly fine without each other?

I retire to the chapel. I sit in quiet contemplation, sigh, and stare at the huge picture of my face.

On the forehead, I’ve written three large words

“GET OVER IT”