Don't think too badly of me

I’m devastated. I’ve just had terrible news: it’s over and I can hardly believe it.

It’s so awful I may have to move back to the UK.

I know that betrayal isn’t right, but somehow it was beyond my powers to do the right thing.

It was beyond my control, it was hormonal. It all started when I was pregnant with my daughter. Yes, I know, I’m not trying to make excuses I’m just trying to let you see that it was chemical … too powerful for me to command.

But even after I had the baby, I just couldn’t … quite … give it up. It … was …too wonderful. I ache... my mouth aches with the thought of it.

And I’ve been told – categorically – that he will never be in Thailand again.

No more.

Finished.

I have kept my clandestine relationship with Branston Pickle a covert affair from my father for eleven years. My Dad makes the most delicious chutney. Real chutney: Mrs Postgate’s Tomato Chutney. I was weaned on his chutney and cheese sandwiches, turkey sandwiches on Christmas day, Boxing Day. I took pots of it to University. I was never without it and would leave a weekend in my family home, richer for the jar I took from the pantry.

Until I became pregnant with Daughter … and oh, the shame … I wanted cheese and Branston Pickle sandwiches. NOTHING else would do. It would be okay when I was no longer pregnant, I reasoned, I would revert: my sophisticated palate would return and I would resume my relationship with Mrs Postgate’s Chutney, those delicate flavours of vinegar, cloves, tomato… oh…

But no. Apparently not. I need crunchy Branston Pickle in my life. I had come to accept this: my one ‘can’t live without it’ item in Thailand.

And now I am told, someone has decided that there is no requirement for it in Thailand.

And it will no longer be imported here.

Crosse and Blackwell … what have you done?

I am feeling very, very sad.