In the gym running and still there is no Will.i.am.
There is only one thing for it as I am running, alone on the treadmill. The tears are mistaken for sweat. You can only try to exercise away the pain.
My heart is full it's breaking soon
Hold me close 'cause I'm the one
Burning brighter than the sun.
You don't even need to try
To lie about your other life
Please remind me once again
How we were ever more than friends?"
(The Cedric Gervais remix is the one that elevates this song to a classic.)
I'm at Hampstead Police Station. I have to offer the policeman a pen because his isn't working.
Apparently I'm not supposed to talk about this.
I'm at work and everyone is very excited.
This is because we are doing some off-site work (off-site means in another part of the building) and today our office is next to the Beautiful People office.
Did you ever see it? It was a drama / comedy on BBC Two about a guy who - er - well, it was about gays and there were some cute ones in it.
Gary was one of the cute gays - he's the one in the green T-shirt in this picture...
Of course I don't have a clue who he is because I live in London, a massive city where tens of thousands of gays call it home so there is no chance that I would have ever maybe stood half naked next to Gary in Salvation, for example.
However, sadly, as much as I insist that we leave the door open for the air to circulate (for me to keep an eye on the corridor) no cute gays walk past.
In fact no-one walks past at all. Maybe the office is abandoned and they forgot to take down the posters.
This is like the 34th time* I've logged on to do this today but it is imperative.
You can choose the seat you want to sit in on the airplane to Johannesburg and someone is following me around the cabin.
Wherever I put my purple marker, a few minutes later the seat to me becomes taken. The red seats are empty, the grey ones taken.
I've already moved from 18A to 19A to 20A to 21A and 18K.
I have social problems sitting next to strangers on airplanes. I overcome this with valium / reading obscene literature.
* = over-exaggeration.
I feel massively satisfied because I have sorted and logged all of these tapes (I was supposed to have done this in December).
I ask for a pat on the head. I get nothing.
Like me, there is a guy on the Tube playing Flight Control. Here is a picture to prove it...
It's a text from Nix: "I love and hate the Box in equal measure."
I text Nix back: "Nix, you know what he looks like, he said hello to me while we were sitting at Balans last Sunday, so if you see You Know Who please tell him I'm at home crying and pining for him to call me."
This is partially true because I am not at home.
I am now at home.
Can I show you something but you have to promise not to tell anyone or say anything?
Okay... I might rip it down again but here...
They're small and I have added some blue crap to distract attention from them but that's me.
That's my stomach. And no I haven't drawn any lines in or anything.
I am still not looking like I want to look. But then again, it's never going to be perfect.
That's the problem. Perfection is just not possible.
That's my lesson for today.