So, I was wrong. The Frenchman has been busy with a work project and sorting out his CV to start job hunting. I got a message from him earlier today, all chirpy and apologetic. I’m happy he’s not lost his job, or died or anything but I’m going to have to say something. Not to nag, but this is not a normal relationship. The distance just magnifies everything, making the good things ace and the bad things fucking dire. Anything could have happened to him. He could’ve come off the road and died (heaven forbid, but the driving over there is just insane) for all I knew. All it takes is a message to say “I’m busy, will catch up with you in a few days”. Grrr. Do guys not think about this stuff? Seriously?

And, OK, maybe there were external factors that didn’t help my mood. Such as one of the girls at my french class on Wednesday telling me how she’d left Portugal to be with her boyfriend here in London after a year apart, only for him to dump her 4 months later, leaving her in a foreign city with no friends and nowhere to live. And perhaps reading the ‘It’s Complicated’ agony aunt whatsit in The Metro which was about a woman who had a long distance relationship with a guy ‘in Europe’ who decided out of the blue that their relationship wasn’t working. Miss Sunshine, I’m blaming that one squarely on you (kidding. Sort of).

So, yeah. My head hasn’t been in the best place over the last couple of days, especially with the pressure of sorting out my edits to send my updated manuscript to this publisher. And, maybe I should explain why I’m not jumping from the roof about it. Last year, they gave me great feedback and told me they were considering it for publication. Fabulous. I was so, so excited. One of the Big Six publishing companies were considering¬†my book. Fast forward months later and they say no. Crushed. It’s this same publisher who got in touch yesterday. Well, they’re creating a new division and have recommended it to the new division for consideration. So I’m trying not to get excited, because frankly, I can’t deal with yet another rejection. I’d decided to stop submitting it and just put it on Kindle. I’ve even forked out for the editing and next was a fab cover. I had no intention of putting it back out there only for it to come back with a big fat no. But, hey, miracles happen. You never know. It could be good news. We’ll see.


OK, I admit defeat

So last night was Mr Music’s leaving do. It was also a friend’s birthday drinks so in all, I was looking forward to a great night out. I’d spent Thursday night at Miss America’s house with her and her kids. It was a nice chilled evening. As a side note, if anyone is thinking of watching Melancholia with Kirsten Dunst and Keifer Sutherland…well…you’ve got your work cut out for you is all I can say! The weather was beautiful and as I sat on the tube from the Hertfordshire countryside back to London for work, the sun was shining and the music playing on my iPod suited my mood. I’d had Coldplay’s ‘Don’t Panic’ in my head all day and night and it came on while I was looking at the greenery outside the window. Lovely.

The night started off very well with the birthday drinks. Cocktails on the go and we hit the dancefloor early to some retro beats. A group of us left to go Mr Music’s do and made the walk from Covent Garden to Regents Street. Let’s just say that things went quickly downhill from there. When we finally arrived, I had high hopes for the bar. There were a cluster of them all along what I can only describe as a wide alleyway and with people spilling out onto the street it had an almost mediterranean feel to the place. We saw Mr Music outside chatting to the fiancee of an ex-colleague and we barely got a hello. One of the girls I was with raised her eyebrow at me and said in her Canadian accent ‘gee, after that walk we don’t even get a hello?’ I had to agree with her, he was clearly on bad form. This was confirmed to us when inside, we got chatting to a mutual ex-colleague who’s good friends with Mr Music. Apparently he was in a mighty bad mood because the turnout was crap – well if you arrange your leaving drinks at 8pm what do you expect? Didn’t help that he was apparently an hour late himself.

When Mr Music came back in, I offered to buy him a drink – it was his leaving do after all. He said he wanted a shot because he was in a foul mood and when I asked why, he repeated what his friend had told me. I asked if he’d found himself a job yet and he has. He had said if he got the job then he’d have to move out of London, but apparently he’s now staying and will commute instead. He went on to tell me about the new place he’s moved into with his flatmate, blah blah blah. Where’s my invite?

Now, I’d fully intended to cut to the chase with him last night, so what happened next was a bit of a shock.

Mr Music: Sorry if I’ve been a bit distant with you the last couple of weeks. I’ve started seeing someone.

Me: Oh. (cue long, awkward pause). Anyone I know?

Mr Music: She’s taking my old job. She’s here tonight.

He nodded behind him towards a 5ft nothing blonde.

Me: Cool. How long have you been seeing her?

Mr Music: Only a couple of weeks. Probably won’t last long, there are things about her that irritate me already. It was actually because of something you said, about how I should stop messing around and get serious.

Me: Oh. (Clearly he’d taken my advice wrongly – I meant stop messing around and get with me, not someone else!)

Mr Music: What about you?

Me: I’ve been a good girl.

Mr Music: Have you heard anything from that knob? (i.e. the Ex).

Me: Nope.

Mr Music: Has he not been trying to get you back?

Me: Nope.

Mr Music: He’s a dick. He wasn’t right for you anyway.

Me: Yeah…I should go get some drinks.

I went to the bar and I’ll admit, I felt like shit. That was not the conversation I’d planned on having with him last night at all and I think until that moment, I didn’t realise just how much I actually like him. It could almost have been a RomCom. He came over a couple of seconds later and introduced her and then she went off to dance. We downed our shots and I went outside for a smoke with some of the other guys. Everyone seemed to be having a dire night, mainly because of the venue. Meat-market was not the word. And the music was awful. One of the girls we’d walked to the bar with had already left and the other was about to head off, along with our mutual ex-colleague. I decided to give it a bit longer. After all, it was Mr Music’s leaving do. But as I sat there sipping my double bacardi and coke, I knew I wasn’t going to last long. Not only had the only other people I knew aside from Mr Music left, Mr Music was nowhere to be seen. He came back a few minutes later with his new lady.

To say she didn’t look happy would be an understatement. I’d decided I was going to leave but clearly it wasn’t the right time to interrupt a domestic. I can’t be 100% sure that’s what it was but there was a lot of pouts and from her and calming down gestures from him. After two minutes I got bored, tapped him on the shoulder and said I was going. I got a half arsed ‘see you later’ in return and stormed out of the bar.

I was fuming. I didn’t appreciate leaving a perfectly good party to go to one of the crappiest bars in London and spend time sitting on my own. I literally stomped to the tube station and headed back to the bar I was in to start with and when I got back, ordered my next drink along with a shot of Jager. From there onwards it was a good night. I got chatting to a friend of a friend – a guy from Scotland. He reminded me of Four Weddings and a Funeral for some reason. He’s asked me out for dinner and I gave him my number. I’m not massively enthused, but I don’t know if that’s because I was so pissed off at Mr Music. He’s cute, works as a researcher and has a lovely Aberdeen accent. But he’s the same height as me, if not a little bit shorter, and nowhere near as manly as I like.

On the walk home, I stuck my earphones in and put my favourite playlist on shuffle. I regretted not taking pictures last time, so this time I did:

I’m sure my iPod is super intelligent because what comes on, but Coldplay – Don’t Panic. Thankfully, I wasn’t feeling suicidal as I walked over Waterloo Bridge. I was still a bit miffed. I mean, I don’t understand why guys go for girls who seem to cause aggro – again, I can’t be certain that’s what she was giving him but still. I’ve heard of the phrase ‘nice guys finish last’ but never heard of it applying to women. What were all our conversations we’d had in the past about? What made me mad was that he started the whole bloody thing in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, although I never thought of him like that until the end of last year, I’d still thought ‘hmm, what would he be like.’ It’s rare that I’ll tell someone I actually like them, and all I could think was, what was the point? Either he never really liked me and was blatantly using me as an ego boost, or he’s just too lazy to think about dating someone he doesn’t work with and therefore isn’t right under his nose for 7 hours each day. He’s a friend and I love him for that, just like I love all my mates, but I could actually have slapped him last night. I don’t know what was worse – seeing him with someone else or feeling like I’d made an utter idiot of myself. Fair enough, he’d seen me with my ex plenty of times but we weren’t the type of couple who acted coupley in public, and more importantly, I never knew Mr Music liked me then.

For the first time in 2012, I felt a chink in my armour. This is what’s to come – being back on the dating scene. The uncertainty and having to deal with situations where you like someone but they don’t like you back…

I can’t wait.

Take a hint!

Sigh. Why do some people seem unable to take a hint? After a mild dalliance last year, I now have a situation where a guy just will not leave me alone. I don’t care that you miss talking to me, I don’t care that you’re still single. What I would like is for you to forget my number.

I get how after a relationship it can be hard to let someone go. I mean, I begged and pleaded to have my ex back, though now I know I wouldn’t go back in a million years. But this guy knew me for what? A couple of months? I don’t understand how someone can get that attached and/or not take a hint.

When I said I didn’t think it was a good idea to talk anymore, I meant it. When I blocked you on Facebook, I meant it. So why not accept it and move on? I can be fairly heartless, I know, but really? It’s starting to creep me out now and since my mobile phone operator can’t block numbers, I’ll have to either get a new one or live with it.