My life feels distinctly like Groundhog Day. For again today I lean over and smack the mobile phone until it shuts up.
I have run and that's a good thing. Even better is that I have done some abdominal work too.
Helping me crunch this morning is Grace Jones who's song "I've Seen That Face Before (Libertango)" is powering my abs. Mouth along, if you know how to...
I am the six-foot svelte black diva heaving breathlessly and counting crunches on the mat.
Tu te prends pour qui, toi aussi tu detestes la vie.
I have no idea why I am suddenly fond of all things Gallic this morning. It has nothing to do with this.
It is such a dull day at the office that Tina and I decide to form The Fabulous People Club.
The criteria for entry into our club is that you have to be fabulous. And wear sunglasses at all hours of the day. Fabulous people never let their eyes be seen.
Tina and I immediately organise a photoshoot in the middle of the office for our promotions material.
Tina and I accused of buggering around and not doing any work.
Maybe it was a bad idea to send this picture around the office explaining our club and telling everyone they're all too dull be to eligible to join.
I am listening to Pink Martini and the lead singer of the group is singing "je ne vieux pas travailler." I am listening to and enjoying music with a French flavour on purpose.
So do you remember this from yesterday?
(Could anyone forget?)
So we're e-mailing each other and he tells me he's from Lyon which, we learn, is in the south-east of the country and the second largest metropolitan area in France. (Wikipedia)
He will now be known as Francois though hopefully I will be calling him at all hours of the day.
Never let anyone tell you that London is a huge mega-city that's home to nearly eight million people. London is a village which is why my e-mail goes ping!
It's a message with a photo. Someone who knows of Francois has kindly sent me a picture of him in a kilt from Soho Pride some years back.
Francois is on the left.
I immediately tell Tina she can shove her stupid Fabulous Idiots club up her bum, I've got my wedding to organise.
I make a mental note when I get home to download the entire Johnny Halliday back catalogue to learn it all off by heart.
When he first messaged me, I spotted that Francois, like me, is a Gemini. I mail him and ask when his birthday is. He tells me it's a week before mine. Ohmygod. I am thinking His & His birthday party.
More French music to listen to, this time it's Sebastien Tellier and of course it is appropriate that I play that song...
I also check out the finance deals on new Renaults.
In the gym and thinking that I should have paid more attention to the French lessons at school.
Back at home and having another think.
It's been ages since I've logged onto Gaydar and one message from a hot guy is not the greatest thing to have happened this week.
Gaydar is a place where guys meet semi-anonymously to shag each other. That's not really my scene.
The whole swapping pictures of cocks and declaring whether you like willies in your bum (or not) doesn't appeal to me. The guys who I have interacted with have done so because I've chatted them up or vice versa.
It's about the spark when you meet someone. The glint in the eye. The smell. The smile.
"Have you got a clear face pic" isn't a fast-track into my trousers.
Thanks for the e-mail you sent to me.
I was flattered that you messaged me - and maybe in ten minutes I'll regret sending this but I don't have pictures to send you and wouldn't want to do it anyway. As I mentioned, Gaydar really isn't my thing. If I meet people it's in real life - I hope you understand.
Happy Birthday for 24 May and if I see you around I promise to say salut!
So the wedding's off and his slippers aren't going to spend any time under my bed.
He doesn't e-mail back and I don't really expect him to.
My French may be ropey but I can still recite these lyrics off-by-heart...
Non, je ne regrette rien
Je me fous du passé.