Hanging from the branches

Dear Munsey,

I have cheese.

What, love, you thought I had something relevant and dazzling to impart? Really, you simply must stop having such towering expectations. They only get dashed, and where does that leave you, hmmm? Hanging upside down from an apple tree with the complete contents of your pockets arrayed inartistically on the soil for any chance, wandering con-artist to scoop up.

Did I mention, dearest, that it is Munster? I’ll leave you to find the wine. I quite fancy something dry and red.

Your most ardent admirer,