Head vs Heart

My love life has been characterised by a distinct inability to listen to what my head’s telling me. I’m a follow your heart kind of girl, the last of the romantics and no matter how hard I try and listen to the little voice in my head, it gets drowned out by the twanging of my heartstrings.

Take for instance my very first relationship at the tender age of 16. I had a fairly unpleasant boyfriend who manipulated me in the only way a 17 year old with low self esteem could. He told me that I was ugly and that everyone in his year was laughing at him for going out with me and no one could understand what he saw in me, along with other similar pleasantries. My head suspected that something wasn’t quite right and told me to "Get out immediately" but my tender little heart, experiencing love for the first time and witnessing my parent’s marriage break down, told me that this was my one and only chance and I needed to stick in there.

You think I would have realised at that point in time that my heart doesn’t know anything.

But I continued to be led around by it and a merry dance indeed it has led me. From relationship to relationship – throwing itself in headfirst while the little voice has stood in the background shaking its head slowly and going “What are you doing you moron, listen to me!”

The little voice told me that Dave* wasn’t quite right for me. He was just a little bit too quiet and serious and all in favour of the easy life. I was dramatic and, quite frankly, a little bit crazy but my heart told me that I must have got it right this time, I was, after all, the incredibly knowledgable age of 21 when I knew everything there was to know. But I ignored the voice, even when Dave told me that he wasn’t looking to settle down any time soon and wanted to go off travelling and explore the world, and I hung on, until my heart realised that it wasn’t getting what it was needing back and led me to someone else.

The heart continued to pound, no matter how many knocks it got, and it never beat faster than the time when I was going out with The One. Perfectly matched, I’d already known him for years, and everything was going swimmingly until the heart decided that I should absolutely definitely tell him that I thought he was The One. The little voice said “Nooooooooooooo what are you doing?!” but the heart was confident this wouldn’t backfire.

Except it kind of did backfire. The trouble was that although The One was, you know, The One. He wasn’t The One At That Moment. He was in a strange old place, not behaving at all like the person I fell in love in with. And the little voice told me that I should leave but the heart refused to let him go. It knew, it absolutely knew that this was the one. And it held on and it held on because it knew that it was strong enough to fix everything that was wrong with him and that if it just stayed in there, he would realise that it knew best.

Until one day it could take no more and it had to go. It was stretched to breaking point and ready to crack in two and it realised that it wasn’t enough. Sometimes love isn’t enough. And for probably the only time in my life, the little voice and the heart said as one, “Time to let go”.

But the heart never really let go. It understood that it wasn’t enough at the moment but that it might be in the future and it still remained certain that it belonged to The One and no one else.

But over time this got lost and occasionally the heart would flare up and say “Hey, wait I love The One, not this other person” and the little voice would say “Oh no you don’t. Don’t start with this again, that’s only going to lead you down a rocky road. Please listen to me, you have to bury that love deep inside and don’t even think about it”

And the heart said a very sheepish “Ok” and seeing as it had been so wrong about so many other relationships it guessed the little voice was probably right.

But soon it was back to its old tricks...

I ignored the little voice when it told me that Steve* wasn’t right for me. Why in my right mind would a slovenly glutton like me be a perfect match for the ultimate gym machine? And when the little voice told me that something wasn’t quite right about this ‘friend’ of his I knew I should have listened to it. But the heart believed the lies and believed he loved it back right up until out of the blue he decided he didn’t love it anymore.

And then a few weeks later I met The Boyfriend.

And the heart said “YES! Finally a nice boy who would never ever hurt me and will look after me and make sure I don’t get broken.”

But the voice?

It said “It’s too soon. You have to wait and give the heart time to mend, it’s not quite itself, it’s still in extreme need of repair”

And the heart replied “NONSENSE. I. Am. Fine. Too soon, too schmoon. Shut up little voice.”

And then 22 months later, the heart had some kind of volcanic explosion and remembered that it loved The One and that things were different now, he was out of the strange old place and back to the person it had fallen for in the first place.

Except I’m older now (did I tell you it was just my birthday? Yes?) and I can’t let the heart have its own way again. It’s been wrong so many times. It’s the Weakest Link. It’s Britain’s Biggest Loser. If we were picking teams for netball, my heart would be the one wearing a patch over one eye who couldn't catch if its life depended on it.

So I turn to the little voice for some help and for the first time ever it’s decided to shut its trap. Or it’s talking so quietly that I can’t hear it. Or I don’t really like what it’s saying so I’m not really listening to it.

So until I can decipher what the little voice is saying I’m in the worst position imaginable – this close to everything I dreamed of and this close away from smashing it all to pieces in favour of, once again, going with the heart.

Although sometimes I don’t even think the heart knows what it wants. And sometimes I think it's a sneaky little devil and pretends to be the little voice to try and trick me.

Any of my other organs fancy helping me out here? Liver? Got anything to say? Pancreas? Fancy pitching in? Kidneys? Fancy a break from all the filtering?

(It’s always better to make a little joke than face reality I find)

*The names have been changed. Just because....you never know. Also I like the DRAMA of changing people's names.

This time last year...

...after much huffing and puffing and lifting and shoving and wondering why we had decided to move somewhere without a lift, I officially moved in with a boy.

One whole year living with a real life boy.

I was pretty panicked before moving in with the boyfriend, I was worried about anything and everything.

If I knew then what I know now I would have told the panicked me to stop stressing. I'd tell her the following things I have learnt over the past year:

- You can solve arguments over quilt stealing by getting a king-size quilt for your double bed.

- 2 toilets should be mandatory in all houses.

- He is allergic to empting the bin and will just keep piling in rubbish until the lid doesn't close and you will want to kill him but...

- ...when you empty the bin he will take it all the way downstairs to put it in the wheelie bin.

- Don't worry about losing your independence. You'll keep it but be too embarassed to admit that sometimes you'd rather stay at home.

- You'll get bored of keeping your legs constantly shaved after about 3 weeks.

- Repeatedly asking "What's wrong with you?" is not the way to get him to tell you what's wrong with him.

- His standard response to "How does this look?" will be "You look beautiful." Very sweet but not entirely honest. Well. He may genuinely think you look beautiful in anything you wear - everyone else thinks you have a fat arse.

- Monday to Friday you will take care of the dinner. Saturday and Sunday it's his job. One of those evenings will almost always be a takeaway.

- You will gain about a bazillion stone in weight. And that's definitely something you need to work on in year 2 of living together.

- It's actually not that hard living with a boy.

The V Day

Is it too late to post about Valentine’s Day?

Aah well. Don’t worry, there’s not really a lot to post.

I mean, really it’s just another day isn’t it? I don’t think we need a specific day to be romantic, and if I’m honest, the boyfriend is a big bag of smoosh most of the time, but I still think it’s nice to have a day just to say “Hey. I like you.”

I gave the boyfriend his card, and he gave me mine.

I don’t do presents and had told him not to bother but he bought me this orchid.

A freaking orchid.

I’m already panicked about killing it. I don’t have a great track record when it comes to nice plants. And those are just regular plants, not special plants that require you to do special orchidy things to them.

And then the day was just like any other Sunday. Bit of Hollyoaks, a trip to Toys r Us to get his niece a birthday present. (That place makes me want to kill myself. Or kill children.) He manhandled me past Hobbycraft. (I didn’t need anything from there, just an inexplicable urge to go in because I was walking past it.)Then back home to just sit and mooch about and watch crap on TV, before eating, watching more crap, bemoaning the fact that it was nearly Monday already, then to sleep.

A couple of times I felt like we should be doing more. There should be more effort. Maybe I shouldn’t have put my lounge pants on the second we came back from the shops. Maybe I should have sat next to him instead of going to sit on a sofa all by myself so I could stretch out.

Then I had a thought. The beauty of it is that that’s what makes me happy. Lying my full length on the sofa, tangling myself up in bits of wool and thread, watching crap on telly, accompanied by the background noise of whatever stupid game he’s playing on the PSP, getting up every so often to make cups of tea and check in the cupboard to see if it’s restocked itself with crisps since I last looked in there (it never has you know.), and generally being a lazy bint.

I’m just thankful I’ve found someone I can be a lazy bint with and still have him love me.

And for that reason I guess he’s my valentine.

(You may all commence vomiting now)

The V Word

There are an awful lot of hearts around at the moment you know.

I’m not really one to go all out on Valentine’s Day. Have never done the exchanging of gifts, I’ll send a card, maybe go for a meal out but that’s it really.

I don’t have anything against it as a day, I’m not one of those people who start foaming at the mouth and saying “You shouldn’t need a day to be romantic”. I agree, it shouldn’t be the only day that you are romantic, but if there’s chance for a little bit more and a day to take a little time out and be especially nauseating then why not take it?!

At the same time, I’m not going to line the pockets of some savvy businessmen who have latched on and want me to buy The Greatest Love Songs Ever of The Decade Ever and Ever Part II as a declaration of my love.

I’ll just make a card for the boyfriend and maybe we’ll go out somewhere and maybe we’ll stay in. Who knows?

Ah yes, “make a card”.

This is when living together becomes an irritation. Last year was easy peasy, I was living with Mum, plenty of time to get my needle and thread out. This year? He’s there ALL THE TIME.

Luckily I’ve had Stitch and Bitch on a Thursday evening to do some stitching, (although when we picked me up last week and asked me what I’d done I had to give the rather lame answer of “Oh nothing, I just couldn’t be bothered”) and in the evenings before he’s come home I’ve got my stitch on, and I have encouraged him to take lots of nice, long, relaxing baths, but it was looking like it wasn’t going to get finished.

My salvation came in a rather painful way though.

I have done my back in.

I would love to say that it was flying through the air on a trapeze, or skiing down a mountain, but I just slept a bit funny. And I woke up and it hurt. Then the next day it hurt a bit more. Then the next day a bit more. Then the next day a bit more. Then the next day I cried. Then I got a taxi home from work because I couldn’t walk, sit, stand or generally concentrate and I spent that day and the next lying on the floor at home.

It was irritating and incredibly annoying. I felt absolutely fine. I was at home, I could be doing things!

But my back wouldn’t let me.

“NO” it said when I asked it if it would mind me just sitting on the sofa with my legs out. “NO” it said when I asked it if it would mind if I laid my full length on the sofa. “YOU MUST LIE FLAT ON THE FLOOR.” It demanded.

I tried to reason with it. “But it’s annoying lying flat on the floor, can’t I just lie on my side?”

“NO. ROLL OVER BEETHOVEN. GET. FLAT.”

You can’t do anything! I thought I would spend lots of time piddling about on the internet, but I had to balance the laptop to do so and I figured that at some point I was going to get a broken nose when it fell on me. I figured I’d pick up my cross stitching but that too was annoying. My arms got tired from holding it in the air and because I was following a pattern I kept having to stop and put down the aida, pick up the pattern, see where I was and do the next line.

In one word.

FRUSTRATING.

But I am pig-headed. And I persevered because I knew that this was my silver lining. Yes I was in pain and probably overdosing on ibuprofen but here was the perfect time to get the boyfriend’s Valentine’s Day card made.

(Sometimes you have to look really hard for positives)

So hurray for me, it is done and I can relax for the next week or so.

On the floor.

(The pattern for the card came from The World of Cross Stitching magazine and was part of a Love Token sampler)

(My back is on the mend now, and has felt much better today. I am receiving some treatment in the form of acupuncture - probably more on that in a later post!)

Happy Birthday to you!

I asked the boyfriend what he wanted for his birthday.

He said nothing, he just wanted some hugs and kisses and to spend some time with me.

(I know. He makes you want to vomit doesn't he?)

Unfortunately he couldn't get the day off work, which is why I'm blogging before 7am.

He didn't want to open any of his presents this morning but that seemed a bit wrong to me so I said he should open just one.

Fortunately hugs and kisses are pretty easy to wrap.

Happy Birthday boyfriend! (Even though you don't know about this blog.)

(And when you come back from work this evening there will be two small furry people here to wish you happy birthday too. Oh. Did I not mention that? Fred and Lily are coming tonight and staying for a week. Happy Birthday!!)

Fight or Flight?

I always find it quite funny when people throw up these hypothetical situations and either ask you who you would respond or tell you how you should respond. You know the type of thing - if someone comes up behind you and grabs you to elbow them in the stomach, if you hear someone in the house you call 999 etc etc.


The reason I find it funny is that you have absolutely no way of knowing how you're going to react because you will do whatever your natural response is in the heat of the moment. I believe it's called instinct. There might be a small voice in your head advising what it is you should be doing but this voice will be completely over-powered by your instinct which can make you do something that you would never have anticipated.


Take Saturday evening for instance...


The boyfriend and I live next door to a popular nightclub in Hull. Most of the time it isn't a problem, our bedrooms are at the back of the flat so we don't get woken up by people leaving and it usually just provides us with a great source of entertainment for laughing at people being generally drunk and foolish.


Our ears have become atuned to the various calls of drunk people now. We know when someone's screaming to get someone's attention and we now know the type of noise that indicates that something not so good is going down. This Saturday we heard that kind of noise. We looked at each other? Could we bothered to get up and look out of the window? The boyfriend went over (I'm far too lazy sometimes) and looked out.

"Uh-oh. Proper big fight."

Suddenly my laziness disappeared and I ran over to the window.

What happened next happened very quickly.

I saw a girl outside the flat crying her eyes out and a boy on the other side of the road on the phone and a boy and a girl in the middle of the road. This boy and girl had their arms around each other. No wait. She was holding him up. Suddenly a bloke ran over to the couple and starting hitting the girl.

No you didn't read that wrong. He was hitting the girl.

Before I knew it I was out of the door and running down the stairs and out of the front door. I have no idea what it was I thought I was going to do but luckily they'd disappeared by the time I got out of the front door. Luckily for them and me I should say.

Anyway the rest of the story is irrelevant. The police came, they took some statements and then they went off to look for the men that had attacked them.

When I got back inside though I thought to myself "What did you think you were doing? You're an idiot" Whilst I'm no whipper snapper and could have probably done some damage if I'd sat on him I don't know any self defence and I don't know how handy I am with my fists. Maybe I thought that the sight of me with my tracky pants on coming out of the building whooping like some kind of harridan would do the job but there's a serious chance it wouldn't have. This was a guy who was pretty ok with punching girls.

I shouldn't have done it. I should have stayed in the flat and watched what happened and come down and talked to the police when they came.

Hang on a minute. Rewind.

Watch what happened????

Nope. That's what the trouble for me is. I could never stand and watch what happened. I just know I couldn't. I will be the idiot that gets involved with something they shouldn't and probably puts themselves in danger (in fact I did once and I have the scars to prove it but that's a tale for another post) but all I can think is that if that was me who was in danger, what would I think of the person that just stood and watched and didn't try to help me?

Being stupid I can live with. Standing by and doing nothing I can't.

(I asked the boyfriend what he thought when I ran out of the flat like some kind of mental person. I assumed he'd say he was worried that being with someone like me would end up getting him in to trouble at some point. But he didn't. When I asked him if he thought I was stupid he said no, he thought I was incredibly brave and that he was doing the same as me, he was on his way down to bash some heads together and was just getting his shoes on. "Aaah you were getting your shoes? I was out there barefoot!" I replied. "Yeah good point. You are stupid."

He's lovely.)

Come dine with me

I do most of the cooking in our little household of two. It's not that we're being terribly traditional or anything it's convenience more than anything. The boyfriend's actually a great cook and really enjoys doing it but he doesn't get home until nearly 7pm and if we waited for him to cook, we'd be eating way too late for my stomach.

I'm kind of getting into it but it's a bit of a pain to be honest. Just having to come up with something new to cook every evening. I'm trying to get better and I being a little more inventive, but life was much easier at uni, when I lived by myself. I didn't mind having salad and a baked potato 5 days in a row. But I'm trying to mix it up a little.

However I do a little private dance for joy on the nights that I don't have to cook. Last night was one such night as I was off to the cinema and was gone before the boyfriend got home.

"You'll have to look after yourself!!" I trilled to him the evening before.

The boyfriend's version of "Looking after himself" is to go to the nearest takeaway (and when I say nearest it's literally across the road) and get something horrific. Last night was no exception - I opened the bin in the kitchen to see the tell-tale polystyrene tray lying there, the poor excuse of salad that came with the donner meat, rejected and poking out of the side.

I do wish he would look after himself a little better. It's bad enough that he smokes (yes I know! But only about 6 a day and I'm working on him) but he drinks too much coffee and doesn't eat food which is bursting with nutritional value.

"But you can cook so why don't you just cook for yourself when you get in?"

"I can't be bothered when I get in"

I inwardly sighed and then decided to try another tack. Logic. It never fails.

"Well what you do if you lived on your own?" I said. Aha. The smug levels were high, he'd have to be realistic and answer this one I thought to myself.

"Well I'd be lonely" he said with a pretty mischievious smile on his face.

Smart move Counsellor.

Case closed.

2012 is beckoning...

I am still going to the gym although it still not my favourite activity. I force myself to go and if it wasn't for the fact that I go with a friend, then I have to admit I probably wouldn't go at all.


I'm not at the point yet where I actually enjoy going but sometimes I do feel like I want to go. Which is progress I think. When I say "I do feel like I want to go" that doesn't mean that I'm hopping to go as soon as I go in, more that when I haven't been for a few days there's a sort of slight notion in the back of my head that I want to go.


I'm getting there.


As for results?


Erm......there aren't really any yet.


BUT I'm not putting more weight on so that's got to be good - right??


I figure that now I'm mastering the gym, it's time to start cutting down on the amount of crap I eat. One small stage at a time.


In terms of fitness though? Well. Gains have been made. When we started a few months ago, I couldn't do 15 sit ups in a row. Now I can do 25 (sometimes 30 on a good day). As for the running; well for a start it's definitely not running, it's definitely jogging. Any improvements have been impeded by my crap knees. My knees have been the bane in my life since I was at school, and much hockey and netball playing effectively ruined them for good. Since then they are always a little bit on the dodgy side and tend to threaten to give way as soon as any demands are placed upon them.


I've discovered that I really can't jog on the treadmill for more than 10/15 minutes without them either a) giving way completely or b) seeming fine but then causing me immense pain for the next 3 days.


It's very inconvenient.


They especially don't like it when I go to the gym two days in a row.


Like tonight.


I am currently sat with legs up on the settee. Knees feel like they're pulsing a bit with the pain. The boyfriend doesn't know why I do it to myself but I'll tell you why...


...because he supplies my crisp habit.

It's a dirty filthy habit but I just can't enough of their salty goodness. Any kind will do but I go through phases of having favourites. Monster Munch is the current leader. The boyfriend knows that the crisps make me happy and he just wants me to be happy so he gets them for me. But he really shouldn't. Because if they're there, I'll eat them.


I am doing my best however and with small steps I'll get there. I guess as long as my fitness is improving then that's a good thing. And it is improving, when we first started I couldn't jog for more than 5 minutes without having to stop and walk for a while. Yesterday I managed to jog for a whole 12 minutes.


And for the first time I ran a mile.


A 12 minute mile. Impressive, no?

Well there are 3 years til the next Olympics...I'd better call my physio.

A recipe for a Bank Holiday Weekend

This recipe will come in handy when you are left to your own devices for 3 days.

Ingredients
- Extensive DVD collection
- A craft of some sorts to keep you occupied
- 2 fur balls (can be any colour but I went with ginger & white and black & white)
- Comfy clothes
- Change of location
- Boring work

Method

Step 1: Take the comfy clothes and apply to the body. Add the craft to keep you occupied (I went with cross stitch but reading, sewing, whatever will do)

Step 2: Mix in the extensive DVD collection - I found a mixture of Sex & The City, House, Wedding Crashers and The Breakfast Club worked well.

Step 3: Stir in the fur balls to 'help' with your craft and most importantly keep you company during the night.

Step 4: Move comfy clothes, craft and fur balls to a different location (a.k.a. the fur balls' real home) and leave to simmer for another day.

Step 5: Remove from fur ball location, back to original location, add in a good dose of boring work and bring to the boil.

Step 6: Give up on the work and return to craft and DVDs and await boyfriend's return.


It's been a lovely relaxing weekend (work aside) but I kinda him want back now.

Why I love this boy of mine...

...because he brought me pretty flowers and when I asked him why he said

"Because it's Monday"

(And yes they are in a glass tumbler rather than a nice fancy vase but when the flowers are this pretty I figured it wouldn't matter)

The Holiday: The Girl's Side of the Story

Once upon a time there was a girl who went on holiday with her boyfriend. But not just her boyfriend. 12 other people came along as well, mainly members of the boyfriend's family.

The troop ranged in age from 3 to 90 and their first battle was with the check-in desk. Never try and check in with 9 people at the same time - you will annoy yourself and everyone around you as they try to clamber over your bodies and bags. The Girl retreated to a safe distance until the danger had passed.

When they got to France they drove through the countryside, while the sun was setting and arrived at their final destination. The Girl, too tired to look about properly collapsed into bed and promptly fell asleep, awakening to the sun streaming in through the window and the realisation that this was her chateau (for a week anyway).

The Girl's days over the week followed a fairly similar pattern. Get up, eat, read by the pool, swim in the pool, perfect her bombing technique in the pool, read, eat, read, lie out in the shade, usually beneath a tree (and read), shower, eat, drink, read and sleep.

The Girl did haves some adventures along the way. She swam in the river (La Gironde if you like your geography) - there was a gentle current that drifted you downstream, she didn't need to make much effort, just lie back and float, staring up at the cloudless blue sky.

She also ventured further afield and took her first ever trip to a water park, Aqualand. Never had she seen such delights, water slides galore of every shape and size, and also such sights - Aqualand was where speedos came to die.

The Girl decided she would go on an innocent looking slide - "it's just got a few bumps on it" she thought to herself. Off she went, "Wheeeeeeee!!!!" and hit the water at the bottom with such force that she gave herself the biggest wedgie known to man. She learnt a new skill that day - how to quickly get out of very shallow water whilst retrieving your tankini bottoms from out of her behind. She went on it a couple of times but realised her dignity couldn't hold out much longer so she gracefully retired.

The Girl also made a cat friend. She likes to find a cat on each of her holidays. When she went to America she made friends with Pool Cat, a big fluffy beast who would come and join her by the pool at all times of the day. This holiday was no exception and she made friends with Lily. Lily was not just an ordinary cat, Lily was Mr Lily. The family thought they were getting a pretty girl but in fact had a very handsome boy. However the name stuck and Mr Lily doesn't seem to mind having a girl's name.

What The Girl had feared most was whether she could spend that much time with her boyfriend's family, or indeed that much time with her boyfriend.

Her fears were (mostly) unfounded. There were times when it seemed as if the world would never be quiet agani but The Girl learnt to just take herself away at those times. People would just have to deal with the absence of her presence. She also bowed out a mass shopping trip to the supermarket - the thought of 3 cars full of them traipsing up the aisles brought her out in a cold sweat. So she waved her boyfriend off - "I won't be long" he called out. She smiled a wry smile - "We'll see" She said to herself.

They returned 3 hours later...

However the one person she never got tired of being around was her boyfriend. And what's all that really matters doesn't it?

Well that and getting a tan.

How to know if he's a keeper...

...He comes all the way home from Sheffield at 7pm when he's been out of the house since 6am and immediately goes and gets changed to take you out to go looking for your cat.

...He tramps about fields and streets calling "Fred!" and "Freddie!" in a high-pitched voice and doesn't get embarassed (or if he is doesn't show it).

...He carries on doing the above even when it starts to throw it down with rain.

...He gets the tea ready when you come in because you're too upset to make it and just want to sit on the sofa and cry.

...He helps you make a Missing poster that can be stuck up around the neighbourhood.

...He arranges it so that he can work from home the following day, just in case there's anything else your Mum needs.

...He sits beside you all night when you're sad and weepy and don't want to talk and doesn't ask anything of you but if there's anything else he can do to make you feel better.

...He knows what you're thinking just by looking at you.

(Fred's still missing)

This time a year ago...

...life was a little bit different for this girl.

I was not long back from this holiday and after an amazing 2 weeks filled with enough funny stories to keep me going for a lifetime, I arrived back in England, sad to be home and wondering when I would ever get back to see my friends again but also pleased to be back and looking desperately forward to seeing my boyfriend.

He hadn't come with me on the trip and whilst I was away he had been sending me e-mails and texting me, telling me how much he missed me and couldn't wait to see me.

Luckily I didn't have long to wait. I got home on the Thursday and he was going to be coming over to Hull on the Saturday so I had plenty of time to unpack and shake off my jetlag in time to see him again.

He broke up with me on the Friday.

On the phone.

Without ever really explaining why.

I was a total wreck - not only because I wondered what I'd been doing with my life for the last year and a half, not only because I'd never had my heart broken before and didn't realise how much it hurt but because I'd just left my best friend in America, because he ruined my life at a point when I couldn't have been happier - I never got a chance to talk to anyone about my America trip properly because everything got consumed with talking about the break-up.

At times like this there are few things a girl could rely on, one of which is her friends. Mine failed miserably at this task. There could be many reasons for this which I won't go into now but I soon realised that if I didn't want to sink into a pit of despair I had to go out and make my own fun.

First on the agenda was an old school friend's hen weekend. We had sort of stayed in touch after school but not massively but I knew a weekend away from myself was what was in order.

The morning we were travelling down to Cardiff we stopped off at her parents' house. This was hen party central and in the kitchen my friend's older brother was packing up the goody bags for all the hens.

Obviously I knew him from way back but purely as my friend's older brother. I thought of him in the same way I might have considered my friend's shoes - just something sort of "belonging" to her. I knew who he was but never really registered him, he was just there in the background. Especially as he was 6 years older than me - he was totally off the radar.

Anyway. Back to the hen party.

There he was again. I said hello and that was that. Off we went to Cardiff to heal my broken heart amongst 15 loud drunk women.

Imagine my surprise then when I got a message on Facebook (obviously - this is a 21st century tale after all!) from him, asking if I wanted to go out for a drink. I hestitated. I definitely wasn't ready for something new. I'd only been broken up with my boyfriend for a month, now wasn't the time.

But I had nothing else to do and didn't want to sit in on my own being depressed so in the spirit of going out and keeping busy I said yes.

And here we are.

1 year on (tomorrow)

Life's a funny old thing isn't it?