THE DAILY MALE - continues...13/06/08

Thursday. He texts to thank me for the meal.

‘It was very kind of you. I’ll read the book and see how I feel’ and then I have an epiphany!

HANG ON A MINUTE, I think to myself. You’ll see how you feel?? Who the hell do you think you are - The Lord High Executioner? I have to wait and worry all weekend while you see how reading my story makes you feel?

At least I never tried to dupe anyone, pretending to be someone I'm not, making them fall for me then telling them I can’t cope with it.What sort of a man is that? So afraid of dying he’s forgotten how to live? Worried about falling in love in case the excitement proves too much? Hiding away like a hermit in case, God forbid, I might enjoy myself? And who is he to judge me anyway?

This mental outburst helps me to put things into perspective. Of course I still care about him and would love to try to make it work between us, but if he’s always going to doubt me and never going to trust me, it has no chance of even getting off the starting block.

I spend the weekend on a self-inflicted death row, the condemned woman who awaits the decision of the hanging judge. Right now, the jury’s out and the defendant awaits an almost certain Guilty verdict.

Tuesday. I still haven’t heard from him. I compose but do not send a variety of texts ranging from furious to flippant to frustrated. This helps on a scale of zero to not at all.

Thursday. I am looking after my little granddaughters which is like trying to tame a pair of electric eels, and although it’s a great distraction, I still manage to fret about CC the entire time. Once I’ve bathed them, fed them, read to them and put them to bed, I doodle out a few texts which includes making a further date with Brad Pity. After the rejection by CC, I need to re-affirm my desirability.

Friday. Having decided to give Eurotrash a further run for his money, I visit him at the gallery. The minute I walk in he’s all over me like a second skin. He has a delivery to make near my home so we decide to go for a drink, which turns into a second and then a third by which time we’re hungry and need to eat.

It’s a beautiful evening and we're sitting outside in the patio garden of Le Cochonnet. I feel relaxed and liberated which makes a pleasant change. Eurotrash is entertaining company. He makes me giggle and although I know he’s a wrong ‘un, somehow, we fit.

We discuss a Shakespeare play he's seen recently of which he could not follow the plot. I remember a book I have called Shakespeare for Idiots or something and offer to lend it to him. This book is on my shelf at home which happens to be… just around the corner. He says:

"Veel get it now, shall ve?" and I say: "OK".

I know exactly where this invitation is going, and as you might expect, Shakespeare is forgotten the minute we walk in my door.