In which I cry on the hall floor

It was just before 3am last night when it occurred to me that I might not be coping very well with my break-up after all.

There were a few subtle signs; namely that I was curled up, foetal position, on my hall floor, still wearing my stilettos, crying drunkenly and hugging my cat.

The Essex Boy broke up with me two months and six days ago. I didn't write much about him on this blog while we were together, but suffice to say I loved him very much. The reasons for our break up are simple - I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his with me.

I had seemed to be coping pretty well. After taking a day off work to cry, I picked myself up, brushed myself down and carried on with my life. I took sleeping tablets at night so I wouldn't lie awake thinking about him, I swapped baths for showers, I signed up to help at my local Cadet Squadron so I'd be busy, I collected the gorgeous Oscar from Cat Protection, I had a fringe cut. Friends commented on how well I seemed to be coping as I chatted to my ex in the office (we work for the same company) and said wise, balanced things like, "He's not a bad person, he couldn't help how he felt."

Crucially though, I also embarked on a rebound. The Rebound was an army officer who pursued me relentlessly and made me feel sexy. However, he also called all the shots and lived for the drama. One night he'd be texting me until gone midnight asking about my sexual fantasies... the next night he'd pretty much ignore me while we were out with friends. I let this continue for six weeks, despite the fact that I wasn't even sure I liked him, and the sex was fairly mediocre.

Which brings me neatly back to why I was crying on the hall floor at 3am this morning. Being rejected by someone I wasn't even that interested in was a deeply unpleasant experience, and made me realise just how little I was valuing myself. Everything I've been doing has just been a distraction, and I've not allowed myself to grieve, because grieving hurts. Plus I don't want a new boyfriend - I can't imagine opening myself up to anyone at the moment - and I certainly don't want to be messing about with boys who purport to be almost thirty and yet behave as if they're characters in Dawson's Creek.

So I've made a decision - no men until at least Christmas. And I don't just mean no sex... I mean no kissing, dating, flirting... not even any lingering looks across the bar. I am one of the flirtiest people I know, so this might be tough, but I have to stop needing a man in the wings to be happy. The only men in my life will be my closest friends, my dad and brothers, my minky little cat, and this picture of Digby Ioane.

That's going to be enough for now.

In which I wonder what it means to be single

It is three months since the Former Love of my Life and I made the decision to split up, and it feels like three years. I still feel like I'm drowning if I think about him too much... but I've realised that I'm going to be ok. I don't know when, or if, I'll ever wake up and not care about him, but I've realised that even when something heartbreaking happens, life is good. And I've learnt a few things about being single:

1. Girlfriends are the best. A girlfriend told me that the only possible reason that The Brazilian hadn't called is that he'd died. When I told her he'd updated his Facebook profile that morning, she told me I was in denial. I laughed so much I forgot to be sad.

2. You have more friends than you think. I have driven to Wales to spend the bank holiday with a dreadlocked uni friend, been clubbing with a girl I haven't seen since I was 10 and her hilarious friends, watched the Royal Wedding with friends I've seen every few months since I was four, and been to a gig with a Twitter friend I'd never met before. And that's just the start of it.

3. You meet men everywhere - but you might not care. When I was in a relationship, I thought I might be missing something, or someone. Now I realise I probably wasn't. There are gorgeous, kind, sweet men everywhere (as well as some grade A tossers) but most of them aren't for me. I'll wait for someone exceptional, thanks very much.

4. Bathtimes are depressing. God knows why, but I've lost count of the number of times I found myself crying in the bath. Often I accompanied the crying by mournfully singing Adele songs. Maybe it's a rite of passage for the broken hearted. Exercise damage limitation and don't take a glass of Pinot to the bathroom with you.

5. On a related note, Pinot is depressing too. Drink Martinis instead. You might fall off your stilettos and graze your knees like a schoolchild (hypothetically, of course) but you're less likely to end up sobbing under the duvet.

6. You can be really, really selfish. It's awesome. When I was in a relationship, mine was the "sensible car", with five seats and boot space. I've since bought an apple green convertible. I also bought clothes I knew my ex would hate, and had my hair cut the way I wanted it for the first time. Can you believe I'd never decided on my own hair cut without wondering if a guy would like it? Jeeeeezus.

7. You will remember what you actually like. I have listened to Adele's new album pretty much every day, I have watched the Sex and the City movie about six times, and I've filled the gaps in between with the Cold Feet box set and a pile of books. Oddly enough, I haven't watched a single episode of Top Gear.

8. You can plan for a future which is all about you. Yes, I hope to get married one day, but before then I plan to buy my own flat, with money I have saved up, and decorate it however I like. Pink, probably.

9. You should buy a Rabbit. Don't ask questions, just do it.

10. Being single is a permanent state of hopefulness. You could meet your next Great Love anywhere you look. He might be your best friend, or the guy you meet at the bar, or someone you work with, or the drummer in the band, or Prince Harry. Tonight might be the night you meet him. Or it might just be the night you drink fifteen Martinis and graze both your knees.

In which I'm traumatised by a car insurance salesperson

If you have just come out of a relationship, and you think maybe you're not miserable enough already, make some phone calls to service providers. It's a real treat. In the two weeks since my relationship ended, I've done a pretty good job of burying myself in deep, deep denial. Unfortunately, the break up meant I had to update my car insurance. It almost pushed me over the edge.

Me: I'd like to remove one of my named drivers please. Former Love of my Life.

Insurance lady: You'd like to terminate Former Love of your Life?

Me: Terminate? Um, I suppose so, yes.

Insurance lady: Ok, so we are going to terminate your named driver, Former Love of your Life?

Me: Yes please. That's the one.

*Pause*

Insurance lady: So I see you have three named drivers: Your Father, Your Mother and Former Love of your Life. Which one are we terminating?

Me: Former Love of my Life! Please.

Insurance lady: Ok, so we are terminating Former Love of your Life?

After ten minutes of this, I felt like terminating myself. Removing him from my car insurance (ergo, my life) needs to be like ripping off a plaster - painful but brief. That conversation was more like gouging out my heart with a blunt spoon. And it cost me £17.50.

Now to arrange the "termination" of the contract on our flat...