Facebook makes it far to easy to slip back in time. I had a conversation with someone once about the reason why I sometimes feel ill at ease when using Facebook which is that I’m not supposed to be in contact with all these people. In life in general, you’re supposed to lose contact with people. Sometimes the only thing that you have in contact with a person is your shared circumstance – a school or a workplace or something. And then you move on and have nothing in common apart from shared memories. And yes sometimes that equals a friendship but sometimes that equals nothing but a now awkward acquaintance.

When it rains on bank holiday weekends, I want to believe absolutely in a god and be very, very angry with him. I picture him as an efeminate man who’s having a fat day in his robes and decides to punish the world for it.

All that Bond films make me feel is a need for a more glamourous wardrobe. Also I wonder why people laugh at my pan European accent when for decades everyone in Bond films spoke in the same muddled tones.

Sorry that there’s no real point to this.

Do you believe in Valentine’s day? I don’t think I do. The idea of everyone celebrating love on the same day seems like a really nice idea but I think we should celebrate it like we do St. Patrick’s day. Everyone gets a day off to go to the pub but instead of playing Irish folk songs we could play The Beatles “All you need is love” and Madness’s “It must be love, love, love.” I’d prefer that to everyone trying to book a table for two on the same night.

The idea that everyone should have a really intimate night with their loved one just seems like you’re starting this massive national contest where everyone ends up sitting in restaurants in pairs trying to out romance their fellow diners. Perhaps staring intensely at the one they love while trying not to be distracted by the fact that the couple at the next table are out coupling them by playing footsie with a rose clamped between their teeth throughout the meal (despite the trouble they’re currently having with their steaks).

Valentines cards also seem strange. Buying a card with a giant heart on it with I LOVE YOU written in it in massive type face. If someone gave you a card to say “I love you” on any other day of the year it would seem strangely impersonal (and a tad simple). Can you imagine if people proposed by card? That’s be odd. Oh gosh – I just looked it up – turns out you can get marriage proposal e-cards – who would send one of those? Who would accept it?! How would you tell that story to the kids “It was a lovely day when I got your father’s email…”, that’s really out romanced by my family’s traditional story which ends with “…so when I realised I told your father and we started making the wedding arrangements.”

This year I ate a nice steak dinner and chocolate pudding while watching The IT Crowd then fell asleep on the sofa and was carried to bed. After insisting that I didn’t care what we did and that I didn’t want any presents I was tempted to wrap up a big empty box and get really dressed up just to freak him out but that seemed a little high energy for a prank. I haven’t updated my blog to say that I’m seeing someone new but considering that I’ve only told a couple of people about CoffeeShopInSpace and that as far I know only workmates read it I think that’s OK.

Next post I’ll work on my conclusions….the end.

Today I am so hungover there’s a small chance I might die. A small but very real chance. The man from Scope, John phoned to talk to me about something Scopey and I had to politely explain to him that I was the most hungover I’d ever been in my life. We had a brief discussion about how I hoped to one day regain my sense of self and that he was very welcome to phone me then. I felt that John understood me and when I hung up the phone I felt a sense of loss at the potential friendship I had just missed out on.

I was supposed to go to the Natural History Museum today but the only history I’ve seen so far is yesterday’s dinner. Because I was violently sick. You might, by now have cottoned on to the fact that I am writing this to satisfy Simon rather than because I want to. I don’t want to do anything. Ever. I’m going to be sick again.

I didn’t spend much time researching this – my suspicions were immediately confirmed – most people prepare for a rubbish Christmas. Because lets face it enforced jollity is rubbish.

Other things which are rubbish include paper crowns – which only serve to empathize that while royalty flounce around in gold head wear, you have little more than paper to adorn your heads. Cracker jokes which highlight that as well as being poor, we’re also not funny. Music channels in December are also rubbish and consist only of charts like “All the Christmas number 1s of the past 273 years.”

On the bright side there’s Christmas Eve when we can still pretend that the following day might be fun. Or try hard to drink enough to leave us only semi alert for the whole of the day after. And boxing day when we can thank the baby Jesus and all the reindeers that its another 52 weeks until we have to do it again.

And also Noddy Holder – who lets him out of his box every December?

It’s widely accepted that there are 7 stages of mourning: shock or disbelief, denial, bargaining, guilt, anger, depression and acceptance/hope.

What people talk about less are the stages of mourning a relationship, instead people say things like “I think that’s normal” and “I went through a similar thing” and “Time is a great healer.” The last of which is a massive cope out because everyone knows you can’t pop to the shops and purchase a big pile of time. That’s like saying dinosaurs really help you sleep – people are going to have to take a lot of effort to prove you wrong. And the fact that you do feel better years down the line could be down to anything – it could be a placebo effect because over the years so many people have chanted inanely “Time is a great healer” at you like cult leaders trying to brainwash another mug.

People going through break ups don’t want theoretical solutions to their pain – they want an instantaneous process which they can follow to force the toxic emotions flowing through their system out. Like feeding a cold or starving a fever or wrapping up warm or taking lots of vitamin C – something that a doctor would recommend. I’d like to wear a large jumper for a week and drink lots of fluids and be over it.

Instead I’m bouncing from one stage of mourning to the next – currently I’ve landed on “anger” though I seem to have got here from “acceptance/hope.” This in itself worries me – am I going to end up at “shock” – will I stumble in the street one day and find myself face to face with my ex and suddenly scream “WE BROKE UP!!!” in the shrill tones of a mad woman.

Hopefully at that stage plenty of fluids, dinosaurs and jumpers will have kicked in and I’ll be fine.

I can’t believe that there is no search around this term and I feel that I should really push this phrase out into the world – mainly because I know no one is talking about it because of denial that it’s happening.

Emotional Russian Roulette can be played in many ways but the most common method is through text. You fire a text out to an ex or a crush and then spend an evening staring at your phone to find out what your fate is. The worst thing to happen is that you get no response which you translate as “I nothing you” and everyone knows that the harshest of all feelings is the non-feeling (which is why unrequited love is such a bastard). This is effectively like a bullet hitting you square between the eyes and you lose.

The best thing to happen is that you’ll gain a friendly response back but the thing about Russian Roulette is that once you’ve played one round it’s very hard to put the gun/phone down. For round after round you will tempt fate until eventually you will kill/emotionally wound yourself.

The worst thing about Emotional Russian Roulette (or ERR) is that you often start playing because you’re a bit bored and you think it’d be better to be scared shitless sitting in front of a flying bullet.

Put the phone down people. To ERR is human – to not ERR is personal evolution in action.

A week ago I broke up with my boyfriend. It was mutual and amicable which means that the hardest thing to get over hasn’t been the emotional heart ache (which I’m dealing with in away akin to repaying a loan – in small regularly deposits) but rather the gap in my diary. Today is the first day since it happened that I haven’t had plans and I’m going slowly out of mind.

I used to love Sundays on my own. The place where I was living before we got together didn’t have a washing machine so I used to spend the day pottering around and there’d usually be a trip to the laundrette. I’d get a paper and a large glass of red wine in the bar next door to it, then walk along the beach, write letters to friends, little things. Little things that were amazingly satisfying because they were all about me. And now I am bored.

The great news is that as of a few months ago I’m not the only one – it may be in some way related to the band with the same name but I’d like to think that there are lots of recently single people in the same position as me. Bored. Bored. Bored. Hopefully I’ll remember how to enjoy my own time properly in a couple of weeks but in the mean time I’m going to take solace in the fact that I’m not the only one. Hopefully.

My mother just text me to say that she would let me know about my great aunt’s funeral via facebook. Terrible visions of reading my news feed to see “x will be attending GREAT AUNT’S funeral” flashed before my eyes.

It was in the middle of a meeting which I’d already attended at least 72 times in the space of 3 weeks, that I coined the idea. It’s so simple and utterly fool proof – when you’re in the middle of a meeting where the conversation goes around and around in circles for what seems like all eternity, shuff your pencil in your eye. Then stand up and calmly explain that due to the fact that your eye is bleeding you will not be able to continue with the meeting.

This technique also discourages people from delegating work to you – as soon as you catch someone senior striding purposefully towards you, stick your pencil in your eye. You can see from the search statistics below that there is definitely room for a streamlined pencil that can effectively carry out eye poking.

I’m definitely taking this one to The Dragons’ Den.

Unfortunately, after some careful consideration, I have decided that in the current economic climate very few people will be able to afford the luxury of coffee. Instead may I introduce Plan B- You Being Me or as I refer to it Me being You.

As you can see from the diagram below, there is a very real demand for professional impersonators. Not of the BBC satire variety but really talented pros who can live your life for you without anyone batting an eyelid.

In modern society there is often a huge amount of pressure to “have it all”, you know the job, the family, the house, the friends, the wealth – all the really big “the”. With my new service, when it all gets too much I will come and live your life for you – and with time and without the resentment of knowing that I’m not being paid enough to deal with everything, I will get better at living your life than you.

Just think about it.