So after a thoroughly enjoyable catch-up with Bridget over a bottle of wine – one each – she pointed out a few home truths about my recent behaviour.
To fill you in, I’d drunkenly argued with my ‘girlfriend’ at a wedding disco – I was her plus one. And not knowing any of her friends, I was sensitive to being introduced throughout the night as the ‘not quite boyfriend’ and, worse still, ‘my sort of friend with benefits’. Even Bridge winced at that one.
Fuelled by too much drink and very little food (since I didn’t make the cut for the sit-down), I woke the next morning alone in the hotel bedroom. I then drove home very quietly, fending off memories of my bad behaviour. I vaguely recalled having been incensed by her flirting with the DJ… and pulling her away for a chat that became rater heated. Oh dear.
I tried to call and take her to lunch to apologise but she texted a polite refusal. It wasn’t the refusal so much that made me realise we had come to the end of the road – it was her acid politeness in declining.
Later that day, she sent what I can only presume was a prepared mini speech about having a break from each other. It had been – in fact, might still be – great fun but she wanted to concentrate on herself for a while and maybe we should step back from seeing each other so regularly. She would call me…
He’s well-known, extremely handsome and has lived in Hollywood, rubbing shoulders with A-listers for years. But now he’s home, this single dad proves finding love second-time around isn’t much easier for men…
She even us
