Cleaning

Firstly a couple of revisions from London Loves.

Yes, I do suspect it would be different if I lived there. Maybe I would fall out of love if I had to live my entire life in a relationship with just one city, maybe bored, frustrated, angry even tired. Any of my usual problems in fact. Maybe I do enjoy it because i'm only down there once a month or so and it is always for fun reasons. Novelty does lose its glamour when it is no longer novel.

And there have been affairs. Well, one of which I am aware. I ran away to New York for my 30th birthday and we enjoyed an amazing weekend together. Maybe it was just something so much more fantastical than London, so much more exaggerated, less humble, less subtle. Maybe it was just a brief flirtation: I haven't been back since, so I don't know if the feelings would be the same, if the attraction is just as strong, the fun the same. There are other cities, i'm sure, which have attraction, but we will have to wait and see if they have the same effect.

Anyhow, I spent a lot of last night cleaning the house. For a while I have been living in a state of disgusting filth. Well, there has been a thin film of dust covering everything. And I have been unable to do anything about it. Well. there wasn't any point trying to do anything about it. Until the bathroom reached the point of 'substantial completion' then cleaning was pointless because any works done would just create more dust and dirt which would promulgate the house. It is pointless to believe that dirt can be contained. It can't. Worse still, whilst there is an end-point in sight, cleaning is a distraction. It is preventing, or at the very least delaying, that end point. Or at least this is what I had to convince myself of. For I am, at heart, a cleaner. I really don't like the dirt and it really took a lot to convince myself of this. I had to live with piles of books all over because the bookcase had to be left empty in case access was needed to a radiator, I had a box in the middle of the bedroom with all my toiletry spares because I had nowhere else for them to live. And so full concentration had to go on achieving the end-point, to 'substantial completion', if only because I could then clean.

And so it was. I achieved 'substantial completion' a couple of weeks ago and have been able to clean since. 'Substantial completion' is a technical point. Whether 'absolute completion' will ever be achieved, whether or not it is even possible, is a whole other matter. My parents have been living in their house for well over 20 years and i'm still not sure if they have achieved 'absolute completion'.

Last week I managed to get the bookcase sorted and the books back on it. I also managed to get the box moved from the middle of the bedroom and restore some order. And so I was able to start cleaning. I now have the cleanest hob in the Western world. It looks fantastic. I vacuumed the house from top to bottom. I was able to do the first proper dust in ages. The kitchen generally gets a good clean once a week when I do a big wash up. But dusting is one of those non-essential aspects. And yet it is so very satisfying. You get to see it, to witness the swipe, the immediacy of the removal of the dirt. It is instantly clean. And there is nothing quite like the sound of dusting a piano.

As well as dusting and vacuuming I also changed the bedsheets. These have been changed much more frequently than the dusting. But still, there is nothing quite like clean sheets. Jumping into a nice, clean bed in clean pyjamas after a nice bath is possibly the best thing in the world. Better even than sex. Well, maybe. But this was also the first change of sheets since I became single again I think. There is a whole different aura to the room, starting just with the smell. The sheets smell fresh, clean and this purvades every corner of the room. Most particularly the do not smell of anyone. If you have dated someone who has a particular smell about them, then there is nothing quite like changing the bedsheets to confirmbthe end of the relationship. "Gonna wash that man right out of my hair". Well, sheets at least. And I threw away the toothbrush too, so now it is only mine in the cabinet. I don't know quite why it took me so long, but it did.

And the lounge got rearranged back as well. This is the first time it ha a been back in it's 'proper' state with the box-cum-coffee table in the middle if the room since before Christmas. I was finding Christmas tree needles when vacuuming. Now that evetything is back how it should be you can guarantee it will be days if not hours before some leak springs up requiring everything to be moved around in the lounge, and the books dragged off the bookcase again to obtain access to the radiator, or some other such issue. All I need to do now is, finally, get the ironing board put away.

What that does mean is that I should also be able to get back to 5-a-side tonight for potentially the first time since February. I am sure I have been a couple of times this year already, but it may even be the first time this year. Blimey.

London Loves

[for some reason this didn't post on Sunday - well it did, but randomly on the wrong blog so read as if it was written on Sunday]

I'm on the way back from London again.

Anyone who knows me will know this is a fairly frequent occurance. I go down to London as frequently as possible. There is barely even a month goes by when the draw of the capital doesn't overpower me; certainly not an entire season. And the more I indulge the addiction, the stronger grows the compulsion, the greater the desire, need.

When I talk about London, I don't talk about Greater London with pretty, leafy boroughs of Richmond; or fascinating areas such as Barnet giving rise to curious slang about hairstyles almost perpetually to perplex foreigners; or Watford or Croyden, places of which I can only otherwise imagine. These places are towns in their own, areas of the city that most provicial regions would be jealous of.

No, I am ensconced with the city, the tourist heart. I barely stray beyond Camden or Vauxhall; Kensington or Greenwich; although I will always have a certain fondness for Tooting.

No, the outer boroughs are towns in their own rights. They have all the facilities - more so, even - than some of the towns I have worked in. They are self-contained little enclaves which people operate their entire lives in; fascinating, amazing, simple, ordinary, unique lives in. They don't regularly commute, communicate, engage, indulge or fornicate with. They have no need of Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, the Royal Albert Hall, the Tate (Modern) or Towet Bridge. They have all their own amazing attractions on their doorstep in Mrs Dorris who works in the laundrette or Mr Chapman who forever tickers with his car on the street. But a million and one people have waxed lyrical about these suburbs ten minutes out and yet 15 billion miles away from the city.

The city is my love. The massively wide roads packed with everything from the longest bus to the smallest cycle which dissapear all the most suddenly into the smallest,, narrowest most forgotten of passages boardered on one side by a lavish, beautiful, toweingly oppressive megolith, and on the other by a quaint, ordinary, almost extinct little building which - although it is the most important building to the many occupants who have worked and lives and LIVED there, and to me; it is passed by without a second thought to billions an d billions of nobodies on a daily basis.

I go into the big, popular museums, galleries, attractions but juxtaposed against the tiny, insignificant, underground and yet fantastically important galleries. The tiny bookshop which isn't an income for the old chap who runs it, for it barely earns enough for his sandwiches; but it is a passion for him. The gallery which, were it not there, would not have afforded the fozens of artists the opportunity to show; or even just to tell someone, one other person "this is my work, my life."

And this is the reason for London: it exists with the massive alongside the miniscule, purely for people like me. If I wasn't drawn by the massive, I wouldn't get distracted by the fripperies which are, to those people, the most important things in the world.

And now I am on my way away from here. From there.

Rejection

Ok, we'll start with the basics.

I didn't get the job. I got a polite email telling me they weren't taking my application forward. I know the job world is filled with nonsense phrases, but that one really is a nonsense. At least I will know next time not to blog about it. Or wear my Superman pants to an interview again: they clearly aren't lucky.

The worst thing is that, althought the job wasn't the most perfect for me, I had started to accentuate the positives to myself. Mostly these were a considerably shorter and cheaper commute (albeit that I still didn't know the salary so I didn't know if 'cheaper' would still be 'cheaper' inthe long run) and not having to work with my current team any more. There were other benefits: more focused work which would look better on my c.v. and a closer step towards onebof the end jobs which I may want, but I really just was getting frustrated in the place I am in and wanted any job, not specifically this one.

Although not getting the job seemed a huge blow at the time - mostly because I had exaggerated to myself my performance in the interview as being amazing when I probably came across as an over-excited, under-experienced chancer - what it has done is galvanise my efforts to avail myself of alternative employment as soon as reasonably possible.

Possibly one of the slightly more gutting aspects is that I had put off a few bits and bobs in the hope that, had I been offered the job, I wouldn't have had to do them. Things like replying to meeting invites, providing my input or feedback on projects, stuff like that. Now I have to get back to the frame of mind of a committed member of the team, or at least hold out that façade until the next interview.

I knew from the start it was never going to be a good day. I woke slightly late. Correction: I woke on time, I got out of bed 5 minutes later than in compliance with my routine, despite knowing that I could not forego a shave that day. On occasions, if I am running late (or just simply looking rugged enough) the shave is one of the elements of my routine which can be excised. That and breakfast.

So I got up late. I still left the house on time and got to work on time, but there was only one other member of the team in today. I like having more of the team in because it reduces the effort I have to spend on conversation considerably. Also the member of the team in today was my least favourite: a bit snobby, very much considers himself better than everyone else. Which he isn't. So it wasn't a surprise to get the rejection on top of a day already stacking against me.

Then, on opening the inbox, there were already 5 pieces of work in there. Bearing in mind that it is rare for there even to be one which is good because I like to ease myself into the day. Some people see it as 'lazy' but it isn't. It isn't that I don't do work, I just do other work tasks that my colleagues don't see as work. I am not lazy at work, not by any means. I actually go out of my way to set myself tasks to do, but these don't get seen by my team because they are for other teams or higher up in the business. But I excelled myself today and cleared the 5 very quickly.

And then I came down to London, one of the main highlights being the Friday night out which again has already suffered not one, but two setbacks as my friend had to work late; and someone particularly cute who I was hoping to see again (ok, snog again) has blown me off. And not in a good way.

Add to this the powernap. My friend always wants (nay needs, for he doesn't operate properly otherwise) a 'powernap'. This is a short sleep of up to 45 minutes. I, however, cannot sleep so spend that timebin a darkened room going slightly mad and yet, perversely, unable to get out of bed at the end. Hence why we are only just on a tube and it is not far shy of midnight.

And, because I was unable to nap, I will get tired early and we will have to return before 5am

The Power of Lists and Routines

I love lists.

I have lots of them. Lots and lots. Some say too many. I have a list of lists that lets me keep track of them all andknow where they are kept.

Lists are useful. Really really useful. They stop me forgetting things, they keep me organised and ensure that I do everything in the correct order. They even stop me doing things: stop me time wasting, getting bored and probably even stop me masturbating too much. They mean there is always something to do to keep me out of trouble. And it means that I get the things done that I need to do ao that I can then go out and have fun (assuming having fun is on the list).

Obviously I have a shopping list. Actually, at the moment I have four. I have my grocery list, my non-grocery list of essentials, my list of non-essentials, and my list of items which I need to buy for my current project. I have an app for those. Then, of course, I have my list of projects. ListS of projects. My current project has a task list, then all the household tasks are compiled into a list. Each of the longer-term projects is in a list as are the garden current tasks and the garden long-term tasks. Then there is the weekly task list which combines quite a few tasks from other lists to tell me what I need to do that week. Then there are my jobs lists at work. And my fun projects lists.

I really do love lists.

And there is nothing quite like crossing something off the list. You feel a sense of achievement, you know that it has been done, that YOU have done it. And better still is completing a list, getting everything crossed off so that you can start another list.

But they are all the 'future' lists. There's also the historical lists which grow continually. Places you have visited, people you know, people you have kissed, jobs you have done, tube stations where you have had sex, things you have learned. These are lists of accomplishments, more so if they are a list of the failures you have learned from.

They are also lists to help you remember, but to remember what you have done, not what you have to do. And they can be the better kind of list, the list of things that made you smile so that you can do again.

And I am very much a man of routine. A routine is essentially a recurring list of tasks. It makes sure that you perform the same tasks in the same order, day in and day out. A routine makes sure I do what I need to do every day, every week. I stops me leaving the house with no clothes on, or losing control generally. Every six months my main routine undergoes a major overhaul as I move from 'winter' mode to 'summer' mode or vice versa.

The best thing, though, is breaking the routine. It is fun, outside of the comfort zone. It may even feel naughty. Those that live a shambolic life don't get that thrill of change, that buzz of breaking the unwritten rule. But then they're probably too distracted trying to remember where they put their keys.

The Potential-Job Interview

Did you notice that at some stage my font changed in the body-text? No? Thought not.

Anyway, here I am, sat on a train crapping myself. Not literally, obviously, I would never use a train toilet just as I would never use a public toilet. I rarely use any toilet other than my own for a poo, though obviously if you are family or a close friend I have no problem with saving myself the water of a toilet flush.

But anyway, yes: I'm a tad nervous. I'm on my way to a job interview. Eeek. I tried that just as 'eek' but it didn't seem to convey the full 'eeekiness' of the situation.

I wouldn't normally report about a job interview until I know how it has gone. I find it rather galling and embarrassing to tell everyone about it only to fail. But since then it has built into a sort-of superstition with me, which is odd.

As a general rule I am not superstitious. Life is what you make it. There are things which will happen over which we have no control which we just have to live with: no amout of salt over shoulders or avoiding ladders is going to have any effect. Well, except the psychosomatic result of making the superstitious person so nervous about having walked under a ladder that they walk in front of a bus. And a moving one at that.

No, I don' believe in superstitions any more than I believe in gods. Gods are for people who can't accept everything. They need someone to blame; they like to think that someone else has control over things and a bigger reason why the person should fail. They like to wash their hands, declare it 's not their fault, there is someone else - not necessarily to blame, but who has an overaching ultimum which means that this must happen. This is weak, ignorant, flippant and blasé.

But I'll deal with religion another time.

I have fallen somehow into superstitious ways with interviews ever-so-slightly. It's not as though I have full superstitions or routines such as lucky pants or a lucky tie or bag. Well, not unless wearing the smarted, most suitable outfit I have is a superstition. Nor do I have to do anything in a particular order, eat my breakfast before donning my socks or any such nonsense. Well, again, unless being organised to ensure that I leave the house on time or early, properly dressed with all the accoutrements and portfolia I need is superstitious.

But the idea of not telling anyone goes beyond simple logic. There is logic and presumably that is how it started out, but I know at the back of my mind I regard this as a superstition. The logic is many-fold, from not wanting people at work to know so as not to make work even more awkward than it needs to be, not not getting the family (well, mother) excited into pestering me the moment I step out of the interview, all the way back to the embarrassment if I don't do very well or get the job. Let's face it, it's not as though the family and friends don't know I'm looking and applying for jobs, so an interview would hardly be a surprise.

No, it has gone further than that. I know that I am not saying  anything so as not to jinx it. I seem to believe if I tell anyone I am doomed to failure before I even walk in the room. Which is, of course, a nonsense. I have had job interviews where I have told people and been successful: my first professional job I had to tell my parents as it was the reason I was coming down to stay for the weekend. I even told my work colleagues as there was no secret that I was looking for something permanent.

When I came for my current job I didn't tell anyone. When I went for the job prior to that I didn't tell anyone. And when I went for the paralegal job in Newcastle I didn't tell anyone. But it is not a proven record. As I say, I told people about the job in the middle. And there have been other jobs where I have been for interviews, where I have not told people about those interviews, and where I have not been successful. There really is no reason behind it. But mentally, for me, it is a jinx.

Or at least it was a jinx. Let's see how it goes with what we solicitors call Limited Disclosure. Let's see if I break the superstition and get the job. Just assuming of course I am not so distracted so as to walk in front of that moving bus...

So we didn't die

Yes, I was going to post yesterday to confirm that the Rapture didn't happen. In case you didn't realise, that wasn't hell yesterday. It was just another Monday.

I seem to be particularly tired today. There are a number of reasons for this.

Firstly, I got up early today. Well, earlier than normal. I normally set my alarm for 5:45am and actually get out of bed at 6. Ish. Today I got up at extra 10 minutes early. The reason is simple. Sort of. I am trying to get back to 5-a-side on a Tuesday night. I haven't been for ages because of the bathroom. In order to get to five-a-side, I need to cycle to and from the train station because I don't have much time of an evening so I need to get back as quickly as possible. If i'm cycling to the station, I might as well leave the house 5 minutes early, get the early train and then jog to work at the other end of the commute to have a shower before work. If I don't get the early train then I don't have the time to shower before work so I can't jog. Well, it's that or be stinky for the day. So hence being uo early.

Also I currently have someone epic-texting me. It's very nice, getting quite a few essay-length texts from someone nice and entertaining, but it means there is a lot of content to read and respond to. Lovely. But the shine is taken off - ever so slightly, really only very slightly - by it being late at night. But at least it does distract me from other, slightly more concerning items which could play on my mind.

Which brings me onto my final tiredness. I spent quite a bit of time yesterday trying to find certificates, documents and printing off information for something which I have coming up this week. It is probably enough to justify not going to 5-a-side, but I really should go to football. But then it is difficult to turn off, particularly if you can't find one particular certificate or document. It's a good job I have essay-texts to distract me before bed!

Train fitties

The evening train ran late tonight and so was packed as a result. It's normally busy, with dtanding only; but because there is another train 20 minutes after, when my train runs late a lot of people that get the later train jump on in the hope of getting home ten minutes earlier, albeit in considerable discomfort.

One of the things that amazes me, is that even though there are more people on the train there is no increase in train fitties.

Train fitties are - for anyone who doesn't get my Facebook statuses - fit people on trains. They are not fit people on platforms or any other form of transport, only trains. I'm not even sure such a phenomenon as a bus fitty or tram fitty even exists, such is the poor quality of person on those transports, but train fitties do exist.

There are two main types of train fitty: genuine train fitties; and aquired train fitties. Genuine train fitties are just that: they are fit. They are someone you would go for in a bar or nightclub. You have to hope for a seat so people can't see your willy move. Acquired fitties don't start out as fitties. They are usually quite close: 3 or 4 pinters maybe; but because you see them on such a frequent basis (assuming you commute by train) you end up expecting, and then hoping to see them each day. You start to fancy them just because you see them so often. Maybe it is because you see them as attainable. Maybe there is even some rapport: a nod or a smile (with being British you obviously won't actually speak) . Who knows, but they acquire fitty status.

For purposes of clarification, they do have to start of very close to fitty status anyway. Not every regular commuter attains train fitty status with their season ticket.

The kaw of averages would suggest that as the number of ordinary passengers increases, so the number of train fitties increases propertionately. But this doesn't seem to happen.

I think it is because it is the branch line. On the mainline to London you do get a better class of person, and a higher proportion of train fitties. But maybe that's just my London bias.

Anyhow, they are a small touch to brighten the day.

I may not post over the weekend. I may not post on Monday if I get taken by the Rapture!

Super-Injunctions

So, a beginner's guide and a rant at where it's all gone wrong.

So, what is an injunction, and what makes them 'super'?
An injunction stops someone from doing something. They are used in many circumstances, sometimes in business to stop people breaking contracts, infringing copyright or patents, or -as has been seen - in family law to prevent people saying things. The main reason to obtain an injunction is to transfer what may otherwise have been a civil (or financial) penalty into a criminal penalty, thus reflecting that sometime money alone is not good enough to protect a reputation or business.

An injunction prevents whatever it is protecting from being done or said or published. But it can still be reported that a particular person has obtained an injunction. A super-injunction prevents even the fact that the particular person has obtained an injunction being disclosed.

So what's the problem?
Well, two reasons. Firstly, one of the basic tenets of English law is that justice is open. Justice not only has to be done, but seen to be done and reported. And super-injunctions offend this.

Secondly there is a conflicts of interests. Since the Human Rights Act came into force in 1999, two rights have been enshrined in law: the right on one hand to a private and family life; and the rights of freedom of expression and freedom of the press on the other. Yes, technically it is three rights, but the latter two compliment each other.

So why give anyone a super-injunction?
Technically they ought to be a temporary measure, preventing the release of information whilst the ultimate case is heard. However in family cases super-injunctions are used to prevent the release of information which has the potential to harm the welfare of an individual.

Let's be clear about this, it has to be 'information', anything which is false can also be prevented under libel or slander, although these cases will often involve an injunction preventing the libeller from attempting to spread the lies. But in the majority of super-inction cases it has prevented the publication of information which is truec but the publication has the very real potential to cause harm.

And it does have to be 'very real' potential. The tenet of open law is so fundamental to the English legal system that only in the most exceptional circumstances can it be overridden.

So why grant super-injunctions at all?
To prevent that harm occurring, and to protect that individual's right to a private and family life.

To me, the step from injunction to super-injunction is not so great or concerning as the media makes out. But then the media is the injured party here, being prevented from doing what it does: publishing stories; and so is naturally biased and exorting about how it's rights have been overridden.

The step really isn't that huge. If the media is being prevented from publishing the information in the injunction, why should they be able to publish the name and everything-but that particular information?

The media makes a very big thing about the play-off between the two sets of rights: private and family life; versus free press and expression; however by far and away the greater concern behind either injunctions or super-injunctions is the overriding of that basic tenet of.English law: open justice.

This is why the bar to obtaining a super-injunction is set so high. Indeed the press really is barking up the wrong tree by arguing their freedoms are being overridden. In balancing out the rights of private v publication, there is always going to be an implied preference to allow people a private life, and breaching that can only be "in the public interest" (which is the basis for a preference for publication) where that particular individual holds or has placed themselves in a position of real or perceived responsibility or mor ask high-standing; and where publication will prove that position to be unjustified.

In the case of most of the tattle which is going round, that cannot be said. It is tattle: it is rubbish an insignificants about affairs and sexuality and other such irrelevances which cannot be justified as being "in the public interest". It is not leaking crime ir corruption or lies which go to the heart of government or business or justice, it's about a football who had a night with a hooker. It is not in the public "interest", it is only in public gossip.

In the past certain people have argued that they need a super-injunction on the basis that there is the very real potential to cause harm to their commercial interests. John Terry for example argued that publication of his affair could harm his sponsership deals. Very correctly he was denied a super-injunction. If you want to protect your commercial interests you have to do that yourself, by not putting your willy in any woman who will take it.

Moreover, there are competing commercial interests, usually coming from the party wanting to sell the story to a paper, or the paper wanting to use the story to sell more papers.

The only justification for a super-injunction is where otherwise would be to expose the welfare of an individual to potential harm; usually the child of an affair. It can be used to protect a "non-celebrity" who has not chosen to live any of their life in the public domain in the same way as a celebrity and therefore the justification of publication in the public interest is much more difficult to establish. Note here that it is not an argument that the non-celebrity has any greater right to a private life because they don't, everyone's entitlement to that right is the same.

Also, a key point to remember is that the starting point is always that of open justice, always that the information should be available and publishable all the way up until the point where it is proved that there is a very real potential for harm.

Maybe, rather than saying anything about super-injunctions or justice, this latest glut has actually said more about the culture of celebrity, gossip, and the media's distorted perception of the public interest

The Off-site

Every few months work has an 'off-site' meeting. Basically what happens is they hire a room in a hotel - a big conference type room, not just a bedroom - and around thirty of us senior managers are expected to attend. We are supposed to be analysing the business to identify training requirements; where the business can adapt and evolve; and how the business can better communicate with the proles. We spend the day 'brainstorming'; 'thinking outside the box'; 'blu-sky thinking' and 'pushing the envelope' along with any of the other most recent fad management-speak phrases.

Lovely.

In reality for me it means that I spend a day out of the office, therefore creating a backlog of work, whilst my underlings believe I'm off on a jolly day away with no work to do. And it has such little relevance on my work anyway, not just because I have a very small team resistive to change; but mostly because nothing gets implemented from the meetings.

But at least it is a free lunch.

Single again!

Yes, perhaps no surprise to some, I am back single again. So how?! Why?! Well, we'll start with the basics...

I let myself get caught being snogged by someone.

Notice that careful wording. I "let myself" get caught "being snogged" by someone. I was being snogged. I was not the active purpetrator. But let this not absolve me of responsibilty, I was a participator, and whilst I did start out resisting, I did join in and actively. And it was good.

But yes, I "let myself" get caught. I hadn't been happy for a while, and when the kiss came along I did resist, but then I thought "It achieves the end I need to get to" and in a rather enjoyable way, lets face it.

And it did achieve the desired end, albeit by most disgraceful methods. It's never nice having to end a relationship, but I could at least have been man enough about it and have a conversation about it. Or maybe not: maybe in the long run the intense and devastating pain which I inflicted may have cut the relationship cord quicker and cleaner, rather than doing it all nicely and leaving the hope that the string wasn't snapping or could be tied back together.

[string analogy ends]

In fairness I had tried to have "the Conversation" on a couple of occasions but for a number of reasons the timing wasn't right and I was forced to be a good boyfriend and buffer for whatever personal crisis was going off week after week.

Obviously we did have "the Conversation", just somewhat more heated with more words with fewer letters. And I did get to explain my problem.

How do you say "it's not you, it's me" without actually saying it? And how many times do you have to say it?

It's not that I get bored in a relationship, I get annoyed. I have a busy life and i'm expected to take time out of MY life to have a relationship? I am expected to commit at least one or two of my precious nights a week to it. And who expects this, who imposes this obligation? Me. I put it on myself because if I didn't commit my time to it, I would feel bad, guilty about neglecting the relationship.

So it really is me and not you.

Of course, the more I annoy and frustrate myself with this obligation, the more I displace that frustration onto character traits and idiosynchronies of the other, and theaspects which I used to enjoy, the constant chatter, the inappropriate touching,, all those little things really start to irritate me. And I make it worse by being non-confrontational about it all, not saying anything so as to not rock the boat when in fact it keeps simmering until it lights the blue touch-paper and blows up in ny face like an accumulation of mixed-metaphors

So I became single again. And I'm back on here again too. I now have an app, so I can blog on the move, rather than being forced (by myself) to take timr out of my precious home-life in order to blog. Let's see how long it lasts this time. If I can keep it up for longer than three months then you are beating my average relationship.