I often said to myself that going to Dirk’s cafe was like walking into an episode of Eastenders, only set in South London. There were the gruff old men with hearts of gold hidden beneath their rough exteriors, a wise old woman who is sharper than she looks, a guy with a limp, a family business and a lecherous married git. I’m not eighteen anymore, so why did I think I was playing the role of Stacey, getting mixed up with a married bloke who had no respect for me other than as a sex object?

I haven’t blogged about this for ages, and my regular readers may have thought that I’d come to my senses and stayed away from Dirk, as I’d intended. If only.

We have shared two more interludes, but we did NOT shag. Of course he wanted to. Part of me wanted to get him out of my system, and the other part of me just enjoyed the attention of an attractive man. There was no chance of us having a relationship, for not only did he have no intention of leaving his wife, but there were no common interests between us except that of the physical. As I said to Veg the other day, this was no meeting of the minds.

And yet, it is over. And I’m glad. My only regret is that I didn’t end it before. My dear reader, you may ask, why should I believe her now, she obviously can’t keep her grubby hands off him? Well, he has succeeding in offending me, which is quite a feat if you know me at all.

Basically I saw him on Friday at lunchtime. He said that he hadn’t been as persistent with me recently as he wanted to “get to know me”. Fair enough I thought, though I hadn’t noticed much change in his predatory behaviour. Then he went on to say that he felt that he didn’t know me so well and claimed to be wondering whether I could have some sort of Sexually Transmitted Disease! Then he said that he thought that I might shag for England in Jamaica, and that he was concerned for me! Such knobbery – if he doesn’t want a STD I’d be happy to cut it off for him!

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I’m glad to say that I have another suitor waiting in the wings. He reads this blog sometimes and it’s early days in our friendship, so I won’t embarrass him, but is a lovely guy who I admire so much. Watch this space!

How frustrated I am at myself for:
a) Eating loads of crap
b) Being a lazy sod
c) Not writing
d) My infernal weakness for the married man
e) Taking on projects for others when I should concentrate on my own stuff

Serious extended family issues, which I can’t discuss further.
Suffice to say that Tolstoy was right that every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.

I’m so bored, and unfulfilled. I don’t know where I’m going.

I have too much time in which to think about stuff now.

I’m remembering lots of my dreams now; sometimes I “remember” something then realise that it happened in a dream, not in reality.

I think too much.

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Now that’s it’s happened, it feels like it was inevitable, but I promise that I was not planning it.

Feel free to call me a jezebel/slut/harlot/slag/whatever. I’m not proud of myself.

I let the married guy kiss me. I resisted at first, but then a voice inside me told me to let him if he tried to kiss me again. I had been fantasizing about him for so long, that I guess I wanted the fantasy to be real for a moment.

I felt so guilty, and yet so excited at the same time. I had crossed a new boundary, bypassed my morals, forgotten my feminine loyalties and become a sexual deviant (again).

He asked me for my phone number, but I refused to give it to him. He wants to continue our liaison, but I don’t want to be involved in an affair. I don’t want to be a mistress.

It can’t happen again.

I bought a pen for £205 ($404) today. It’s a Mont Blanc Starwalker pen, very lush, but what was I thinking?

I’ve got no excuse not to write something now. Anything.