Dear Quentin, I don't know if you will ever read this, or even if you ever read anything ever again but... I have a confession to make.
The Dutch authorities weren't just on a random raid, they were there specifically looking for you, and the reason I know that is because... I was the one who told them.
I'm so so fucking sorry. Seriously I am loves, really well and truly. I never thought you'd end up in that crazy Quarantine Prison, I just thought they would deport you back to the UK!
I am racked with guilt every second of the day, Really. Well OK, when I listen to the new Jedward song I don't feel so bad. Or if I'm drinking wine. Or having a fag. Or eating some trill. Or watching some telly. Or looking at porn on the Internet. But when I'm not doing any of those things I'm feeling really sad and guilty. Well, unless Aunty Hy or Winnifred Lesbo Bulldyke or Montel or the fucking pig are trying to talk to me in which case I'm just pissed off. But the rest of the time. Guilty as hell.
I'm trying to formulate some sort of plan to help you, on the off chance you're still alive and managing to survive in the zombie-infested quarantine facility somehow. OK! Not zombie-infested, zombies aren't real that's just stupid, but you know what I mean. The rabid-genetically-modified-animal infested quarantine facility. If you're reading this please find some way to let me know you survive!
Love from your old dear Fanny x
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