My mum has expressed her concerns that I am making myself too vulnerable through this blog. I expected her to say that I am setting myself up for a massive fall with Mr L'Atelier and was prepared to reassure her that he's read it and still appears to like me - but no. My mother doesn't like the idea that people the world over can read my personal thoughts. I have no idea why it is suddenly a problem that someone in Sydney or Cameroon or Bali knows I am experiencing the heady sensations provided by a new love interest, but she's concerned. There's a good chance she is overestimating the attention this blog gets - although I have over a thousand hits a month, most of them only stay on the site for a few seconds and relatively few are regular readers. Anyway, I'll try and respect her desire for a little less transparency - but in the interests of total honesty, I feel I should say briefly that last night was surely one of the happiest Valentine's meals that anyone's ever had and I am walking on air.
Equally, in the interests of total honesty, I should clarify that my last statement was metaphorical. Sadly in reality, I am walking with a limp after I tripped up the stairs at Moorgate tube station at 8.25am and landed with my right kneecap on the corner of a higher step. Which was so cool of me. It's over two hours since the incident and it's still really hurting. I think maybe I should leave work early... Like now. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
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