Friday, 17th of February

Apologies for the delay, but it’s been an odd week.

Let me just start by saying that Tuesday night was great. Julie and I went out and unlike last week there was no discord or disharmony, in fact I think each of us felt the kind of warm fuzziness that comes from knowing that given half a chance we could fall in love with the other person. We went out – not to anywhere fancy, an All Bar One – and had drinks and sat across the table, holding hands and staring intently at each other. It was wonderful. As predicted there was no chance of us getting food (apart from in the All Bar One, but who wants that?) so we went back to her place and had a fairly good Chinese takeaway. Then, because we’d had a bit to drink and started talking about Whitney Houston, we danced a bit to Eighties pop tunes in her bedroom. Of course I stayed the night, but we didn’t make love (I’m a thirty seven year old man who’d drunk a lot, there are some things now beyond me). The way things went we both kept our pants on and instead dreamily kissed each other. (It’s going to sound caddish but she’s a great girl with a cracking body!) Even when we awoke up, just before dawn, we just came together and kissed slowly and peacefully and tried to resist the inevitability that we were both going to have to get up soon, go to work and separate.

We walked to the train station holding hands and not saying anything, then lingered a little too long over the kissing goodbye as we parted. We’re a couple now and we can do what we want to.

For a day at work – especially for me – it just skipped by. Normally I’m bored and irritated, but such was the pleasure of the night’s experience that I even smiled at people as they passed my desk. In the evening I went out for drinks with a few old workmates – which was another good and fun time –  but it’s when I got home, a little drunker than I should have been, that the troubles started. I put my key in the front door and it snapped, just came clean away. The remnant lodged itself in the lock and blocked me from my flat.

Well, all that beautiful feeling just evaporated. I swore for a bit and punched my fist against the door, but that was just ridiculous and impotent fury born from the fact I knew there was nothing I could do and – at that time of night – no one I could call. So feeling furious at the expense I checked into the nearest hotel I could think of. A bland and soulless place, whose staff did nothing to hide their irritation that I was disturbing the peace of their boring evening.

The next morning I went into work feeling decidedly more grumpy (and wearing exactly the same clothes three days in a row) and tried to get a locksmith. But none – incredibly – were available, the earliest I could get was Friday morning. Finally I gave into the inevitable and booked it for first thing and arranged to stay with a mate. (I didn’t want to stay with Julie as what we have between us is good but still at a fragile early stage. We’ve arranged to see each other Saturday and I’d rather do that than show up grumpy and grubby at her door).

Yesterday morning a sullen man spent three hours trying to wrestle with the lock, before finally popping it open and charging me a fortune. He fitted a new lock and departed with a cheque in his pocket, and I settled back to enjoy my flat. Except I got the strangest and most disturbing impression that since I was last at home, someone else had been there.