World of more

My father got an OBE in the New Year's Honours list. I thought I was above this archaic, class-perpetuating nonsense, but it turns out I'm really rather proud.

With a superficially innocuous decision the whole carefully constructed edifice of denial I have built up over the last few months has come crashing down. Despite all my best intentions to move on after her massive betrayal in August, it's been consistently clear to me that I've actually just been living in hope that she'll see the error of her ways, end her pointless dalliance with the stunted diplomat and pick me. Whilst busy opining that it's over to anyone in earshot I've been fervently wishing for the opposite. Well, now the wishing has to stop because she's chosen him. Christmas was crunch time, I had invited her to Sardinia over New Year, my opposition had invited her to Scotland. She told me that although she had decided that she didn't want to go out with me, she was going to spend the holiday with her family, and I could phone her from Sardinia just to prove that she wasn't in Scotland. I wanted to believe her and so that I could continue to...

A weekend sailing on the Solent. I've made a big decision, I don't really like sailing much. Actually, more specifically, I don't really like sailing with my boss much. About 4 times a year, my dimunitive (some might say stunted), Napoleonic, goatee-wearing boss (who is really quite important and is potentially being lined up as CEO) decides to put his sailing knowledge and experience to some use and charters a boat and invites some friends down for the weekend. It's a chance for him to invite some young graduates from work who might be impressed by his posturing. I get invited, partly because I sort of get on with him, but mainly because he needs some experienced crew on the boat. It's always stressful. The thing about Gary is that although he may be little bigger than a 50p piece, his ego doesn't fit comfortably in anything smaller than a medium sized African republic. He thinks he's the best sailor in the world (based on a week's sailing course ...

I was in Frankfurt last week delivering a training course. The return plane made its descent over central London after night had fallen. Clear, cold air and no clouds to interrupt a magnificent view of glittering lights as we slowly tracked the Thames from 5000 feet up. Canary Wharf, Regent's Park, Baker Street were all laid out like tiny versions of their normal selves. Everything seemed 2-D, buildings that normally tower and arch above my craning neck and slack-jawed face were puny and inconsequential on the bigger patchwork blanket of London at night. Bizarrely everything was sparkling, occasional blasts of light appeared at junctions below, green or red or yellow puffs of flame balling into the night and dying. It looked like a Bladerunner clone - fireballs against a neon backdrop - and I could not work out what was going on, the only theory I had was that it was some sort of celebration for the fall of Kabul, but that seemed unlikely. The pilot later informed us that i...

Up to the Lakes for the weekend and all was beautiful. 270 miles in four and a half hours on Friday night - one day we'll get busted. I'm so anal that even in my stupid car I normally obey all speed limits (give or take) but there's something weak inside of me that bends like a paper-clip when the 100mph peer group of Gus n Baz are sitting in the same car as me, so I gun the thing and don't drop below 90. I feel so...naughty. We camped in the Langdales, pitching tents at 1am and instantly dropping off to sleep. It rained gently during the night but was pleasant and dry when we woke. Baz made infinite cups of tea as normal, Carla was slow getting up, as normal, and we talked constantly of kit, costs and buggery, as normal. We blasted off to walk a 10 mile horseshoe, up out of Ambleside, onto Fairfield and back down and the fitness test started. Gus won. He stormed off into the encroaching cloud, his shadow getting vaguer as we rose and he stretched his legs in fro...

Well, it still hurts, and my friends are probably still bored of it all. This whole business is teaching me some funny things about stuff (he said in his very specfic manner). For example, on the days where my whole world has tipped and lurched I've stood on the train, wrapped in music and thought, inches from other commuters. I've come into the office, drunk coffee with my co-workers, had slightly productive days and gone home again. In short I've done all the things that were expected of me, and almost nobody noticed that inside me all was confusion and upset. I'm not upset that no-one noticed, why should they, the manic, panicked knot that twists my stomach and addles my mind does not translate to a glint in my eye or unusally crazy hair. But it's made me wonder how many other people, people I can see now, people I'll see walking across a station concourse, buying drinks at a bar, queuing for a till in Marks and Spencers look to be fine and yet inside ar...

We stole a week from somewhere, and had the holiday we should have had. No obligations, no commitments, no anger or resentment. And it was all fun (well, I'll admit I was a bit 'emotional' for the first day). We lay on the beach, walked in the high mountains, rode horses along the seafront, swam in the glassy sea, ate like royalty and had the most marvellous week. Saying goodbye on Sunday was the hardest thing I have ever done, and it looked like she didn't find it easy either, which I suppose is what I wanted. Despite that, all of it seems like it was the right thing to do, I have no regrets. Now I'm back in the real, grimy, damp, war-threatened, dull world with the romantic equivalent of a hangover and I still want her back. All my friends are busy advising me that I should walk away and that she's not worth wasting my breath on, but I do love her very much, and (although I can see how this makes me sound) I can see that she's confused and upset and h...