So, the boy from last Saturday went into meltdown.
We've all been damaged by men. I can't glance at a certain kids TV presenter without seething with jealous rage, and there's an underwear model who quite put me off oysters. But you know, beyond having had my heart broken at 21, I really don't think there's that much wrong with me. Well, nothing that a cocktail menu can't cure.
But poor Rob was hideously damaged by his ex. Over the week we tried to meet up, this kind of leaked out from under his confident shell. But all was going well until a sudden mad flurry of texts.
"i just can't meet you tonite. i'm so fucked up. i'll fuck it up. i'll fuck u up."
No, you probably won't.
"i just can't give u what u want."
I know. Lego train sets are so hard to come by.
"i can't meet up. sorry. i just can't. i've realised i just can't do this."
Okay. Fine. Call me sometime.
"actually, babe, looks like i'm gonna be there at 7 rather than 6. that okay for you? mine's a stella xx"