In which I come out of hiding

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? I have no excuse for my absence except that I am happy, and "happiness is a bitch to creativity"'. It's much harder to write about a Saturday night spent curled up on the sofa with a DVD than it is to write about emotional fuckwittery and crying in the bath, and it's also far less interesting for you to read! Also, I don't need the therapy like I did six months ago. And it was therapy. To paraphrase Caitlin Moran;

"You can always tell when a women is with the wrong man, because she has so much to say about the fact that nothing's happening. When women find the right person, on the other hand, they just... disappear for six months, and then resurface, eyes shiny, and usually six pounds heavier".

So, that's where I have been. Curled up on with Essex Boy in front of a range of DVDs, drinking white wine and eating ice cream, meeting friends and family, and reading the style section while he looks over the sports pages on a Sunday morning. He is kind, and clever, and funny, and it feels right. I haven't gained six pounds though. Not yet.

But that's not all I've been doing. While my weekends have become a blissful picture of coupledom (bookended by hours spent on the M25 and hundreds of pounds spent on petrol), I have also made the biggest commitment in my life as an independent woman - I've bought a house! After years spent living at home and saving my money like Ebenezer Scrooge, I have finally had an offer accepted on a one bed terraced house about fifteen minutes away from my parents. (I didn't want to be too independent, who would help me put the shelves up?) The house is a tiny two up two down, but it has a garden! And stairs! And a corner bath! And parking! It's perfect and I can't wait to move in - something which could take some time, judging by the speed the solicitors are currently progressing. I'm hoping to be in by Christmas, although I won't have any money left over, so the festive season will most likely be spent sitting on the floor in my empty living room, admiring a single bauble.

I'm excited and nervous about living alone. Being able to decorate the place myself, eat whatever I want, and watch endless episodes of Gossip Girl are all things which appeal to me immensely. Then there are benefits to come from not living with parents, like being able to come home whenever I want (rather than receiving a text message to check I'm still alive every time I work late) and not having to sit in my bedroom like teenagers whenever I have a friend round. There are a few things I'm worried about, of course - the expense is a major concern, because I won't have anyone to help me out and I've just spent my life savings on the deposit. And I'm slightly concerned about security, although if I'm honest, large spiders are more worrying to me than any other kind of intruder.

Overall though, I think it's going to be a huge adventure, and I can't wait.

In which men can do no right

Last week, a colleague of mine went on a first date. They had a lovely time, she said, and she enjoyed herself more than she expected to. The following morning, she received a stunning bouquet of flowers at the office.

The level of debate this bunch of flowers caused was unprecedented. Personally, I thought it was romantic. That's the kind of thing us girls are always moaning that men don't do, right? And we all know how nerve-racking it is waiting for him to text or call after the first date - flowers tell us all we need to know. He likes you, he had a good time, he wants to see you again. However, some of our other colleagues disagreed. The words "too much" were bandied about a fair bit. For her part, the recipient said they were beautiful, but that the date "wasn't that good".

This is the bit problem with men making grand gestures, particularly early on in the relationship. They don't know the girl that well, so they don't know how they'll be received. The thing is, the way you feel about the flowers in a situation like this is completely reflective of the way you feel about the man. If Essex Boy had sent flowers after our first date, I'd have been thrilled, but then I was mad about him from day one. If I hadn't liked him as much, I may have appreciated flowers, but they wouldn't have made me like him more... and if I knew I didn't want to see him again, they would just have made me feel guilty.

What do you think?

In which I try to unpack my emotional baggage

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of a new boyfriend will suddenly become irresistibly attractive to all the men she liked before, none of whom were interested at the time.

Or maybe it's just me, I don't know. What I do know, however, it's that I'd really like to be enjoying these blissful early days with The Man I Am Seeing (aka. Essex Boy) rather than having a war of words over text  with Future Husband. He seems to have forgotten that I was interested in him, and it was him who stopped texting me; that many of my phone calls went unanswered and unreturned; and that the last time I saw him he told me he "wasn't sure" whether or not he wanted to be with me. He is also failing to understand why refusing to see me or speak to me now, and sending me multiple texts (including the immortal line "I was coming round to the idea"), has really, really wound me up. FH seems to think that the fact that he was "coming round to the idea" of going out with me is something I should be happy about, even grateful for. A few months ago, I was wondering why we weren't together. He's now demonstrated some pretty compelling reasons. I just hope that our friendship can survive.

Meanwhile, Essex Boy is making me very happy. I'm not sure how much I should say about him - it's much easier to disect the confusing and downright weird behaviour of men I don't care so much about, and much harder to talk about someone I like more and more with every passing day. It's now been a month since our first official date, and I've done the journey from Bucks to Essex a couple of consecutive weekends. We've also been to our work summer festival, meaning that our relationship is well and truly "out" amongst our colleagues. I can't overexaggerate how wonderful he is and how lucky I feel to be with him.

It's pretty scary, though. I wasn't planning to meet someone I felt like this about so soon, and as soon as I met him, I knew things were going to change. I'd be lying if I said I was over Former Love of my Life; I know I wouldn't go back to him, but yesterday I was reduced to tears by finding last year's Christmas cards (featuring brief, neatly written messages which masked a lot of pain and confusion - when I wrote mine I wasn't even sure we'd still be together at Christmas). As my feelings for Essex Boy get stronger, I'm finding that the pain of my break up is coming back to the fore. It's like I'm trying to deal with it so that I can put it behind me once and for all, but I'm not sure how long that is going to take.

For the first time in my life, I'm aware of myself carrying some baggage into this new relationship. I'm so, so happy, but I'm all too aware that relationships that start like this can still end in raw, painful ways. That old cliché of "love like you've never been hurt before" is proving difficult, and I'm still holding back a lot of myself. I guess that's normal though, so early on. What I do know for sure is that while I'm lucky enough to have Essex Boy in my life, I'm going to hold onto him.

In which living at home has some drawbacks

Since my relationship ended back in February, I have been living at home with my parents again. It's good. I get on well with my mum and dad - much better than I did when I lived here as a teenager, that's for sure. My brothers are lovely and entertaining, and I love that there is always company around when I want it. My washing is done for me and my parents own a dishwasher (something I have never had in rented accommodation), as well as a corner bath where I spend many happy - and sometimes less happy - hours. I have a lot more creature comforts than I would do in my own place, and always have someone to talk to.

And yet... after five months, I have come up against a problem. The truth is, deep down, I am still scared of my mum. Not in the same way as I was as a teenager, when all we did was scream at each other... in fact, we get on really well now, and I ask her for her advice on things all the time. The problem is that, despite the fact I am 26 not sixteen, I'd really like my mum to believe I'm still a virgin.

This is ridiculous, of course. I have had more than one boyfriend to stay over in the last ten years, and I've actually lived with two of them. Plus there was the diary-reading incident of 2001 - we don't talk about it, but we both know it happened. But despite this, when The Man I Am Seeing invited me to his house for dinner and, more crucially, for breakfast, my first thought was, "How am I going to tell my mother?"

My mum is not naïve. When she was fourteen, she had a boyfriend with a car. A few years ago, my nan found a picture of her as a teenager snogging my dad on the lawn, and was very excited to show it to us... until it turned out not to be my dad. When I once asked her to tell me something I didn't know about her, she revealed she'd dated a Moroccan boy when she was fifteen (I have no idea how; she never went on holiday abroad and she wasn't exactly brought up somewhere multi-cultural). However, my mum and dad did meet when she was seventeen, get married when she was 21, and they are still together more than thirty years later. Like many women of her generation, she missed out on being both adult and single.

I am not talking here about "having needs". My god, I certainly wouldn't admit to a one night stand! But I just can't decide how to position the news that I am staying over with a man relatively early on in the relationship, and that's a shame because the truth is that I think this guy is someone really, really special, and my decision to stay has just a little bit to do with sex, and a lot to do with spending some quality time together (and the fact that he lives an hour and a half away, and I'd like to have a glass of wine). I could just tell her this, of course, but like my teenage self, I sometimes think the less said on these things the better. I'll probably just tell her not to wait up, and then run. At least now I'm old enough not to have to ask my dad for a lift...

In which men are even more confusing than usual

Do you remember The Brazilian? Don't worry if not, I barely did. He's the sexy barman who asked me out and then disappeared off the face of the earth. At the time his disappearing act did upset me a bit, but three months on, I can't say I've been losing sleep over it. Or indeed thinking about it, ever, unless I'm talking to my single friends about the bizarre behaviour of men.

So I was surprised, to say the least, when he popped up on Facebook chat last week. I considered ignoring him, but curiosity got the better of me. Also, it did cross my mind that he might ask me out again, and I couldn't resist the potential opportunity to tell him to stick it. As it turned out, he wasn't planning to ask me out again, he was just dropping me a line to apologise for not calling me. (To reiterate, this was THREE MONTHS AGO.) In essence, he said I scared him off by being too keen. Now, this would not be entirely out of character for me. I'm sure I can come across as too keen, because when I like someone I do like to talk to them (astonishing, I'm sure you agree). However, that's not what happened with The Brazilian. What happened was that he asked me to a BBQ on a Sunday, and on the Friday I texted to ask him where it was, and he never spoke to me again. Was this wrong?! To ask where exactly I was meant to be and at what time for an event he'd already invited me to? I cannot help but feel that a man who is scared by a text message asking these questions may not be man enough for me. Presumably he is also scared of mice and spiders and the dark and hairbrushes, and that is not what I am looking for in a man, if I'm honest.

I wish I'd told him all this, but in the event I was so speechless over the whole thing I simply said it wasn't a big deal and then deleted him from Facebook. Effective, but not that satisfying.

Anyway, I thought that was probably my fair share of male weirdness for June, but then on Thursday, I received a text message out of the blue from Future Husband, simply saying, "I miss you, you know". Actually, I did not know, because after two great weeks of something vaguely resembling coupledom, he reduced his text traffic from two an hour to two a fortnight. I assumed he had lost interest, and realised I could do better. I momentarily questioned this decision, texting back, "Really?" to which I received a reply informing me that FH does "think about me on occasion". Unsurprisingly, this merely served to prove my point. I'm looking to be swept off my feet by a great wave of love. That was the romantic equivalent of standing in a rock pool with a dead crab.

The good news is, I have met someone who I like, and who I think might actually like me. We work together, sort of. There has been a coffee, and a lunch. We are making each other mix tapes. That's all I'm going to say for now, as I'm determined not to jinx it. But I promise if he disappears off the face of the earth, you'll be the first to know.

In which I try to move on (in more ways than one)

That's that, then. It would appear that my involvement with Future Husband is over before it even really started. He might be my oldest and best male friend, but he's crappy boyfriend material. Aside from the fact that he's barely texted me for three weeks, there are the following reasons: he was three hours late to an event we went to last weekend, having woken up a mere thirty minutes before I was due to collect him from the station, an hour and a half away; he is a hypochondriac who reckons he has cholera when he in fact has a slightly dodgy stomach (I'd like to think he was joking, but I'm not sure); and he managed to keep me up-to-date on his recent job hunt and coinciding life-threatening illness without once asking me how I was (since you ask, I had tuberculosis).

We haven't actually discussed the demise of this phase of our relationship, but then we didn't discuss the start of it either, which could possibly be why we ended up as 'friends with benefits' for two months, rather than any sort of proper couple. I'm not going to deny the quality of those benefits, but it wasn't quite what I had in mind. Still, I am sure that we will stay friends and laugh about this in years to come.

Probably.

Anyway, as a result of these realisations and the fact that I have been out every night this week, I found myself with a very quiet weekend on the horizon, so I decided to make a start on the flat hunt. For years now I have been saving my pennies in a variety of ISAs and e-savings accounts, and thanks to the generosity of my parents, who have let me live at home for years without contributing more than the odd loaf of bread, I now have quite a bit saved. Thanks to my recent promotion, I'm also in a position to get a mortgage (terrifyingly, they seem to think I'm actually 'a good asset' - I did not wear my Kurt Geigers to the meeting). So this morning I headed off to my chosen location to visit lots of estate agents. One or two of them actually listened to my specifications - safe area, parking, bath, and balcony/direct access to gardens - and led me to the conclusion that I will easily snap up a place of my own. Just as soon as I've saved another twenty thousand pounds, plus money for fees. Like I said, easy.

So you see? I don't need a man. Not even a little bit. I am an Independent Woman, as Beyoncé would say. My life is fabulous and full and I am happy and healthy (apart from the TB) and my future is full of excitement.

And besides, there's this cute new guy at the office...

In which love is in the air

Despite owning a pile of rom com DVDs as tall as I am, I'm struggling to think of any films where the main characters actually say the words "I love you". I suppose they don't need to - in the movies, all it takes is a kiss, or even just a look, and intentions are clear. In real life, intentions aren't necessarily so clear, even to the person who says those three little words. Maybe you know that you love a person, and have been waiting for the perfect moment to tell them; maybe you are scared you will lose them, and say it to stay on the safe side; or maybe the words just slip out, while you're, ahem, otherwise engaged.

Yes, I told Future Husband I loved him. Yes, I did it while my mind was on other things. Yes, that is a euphemism. I don't know who was more surprised, me or him. I suspect me. Where the hell did that come from? Afterwards, I put it down to a strong friendship and even stronger hormones, and he was gracious enough to let me, but I worry that now I've said it, I've played my hand far, far too early. It didn't put either of us off our stride at the time, and in fact we had another wonderful weekend, filled with kisses, dopey grins, red wine and pizza eaten in bed. Now though a week has passed, and I have barely heard from him. This first bit of a relationship has always been my favourite, but I'm beginning to think I've finally grown up - I'm missing the security of knowing how someone feels about me, and I'm bored of game playing.

Three days and two hundred and fifty miles after my indiscretion, I watched two people who have done away with all the games pledge their undying love to each other. Forces Wife is now a real wife, having tied the knot with her lovely man under an uncharacteristically blaring sun in a pretty Northern seaside town. She looked so beautiful and happy it brought tears to my eyes, and I even forgot to be jealous (for most of the day, anyway). This couple have got love and happiness nailed. They know they have faults, but adore each other all the same. They are independent, but happiest together. They respect each other, and respect their relationship. They would never do anything to hurt each other, because they know how lucky they are to have found one another.

Watching them smiling their way through a clumsy first dance routine, oblivious to anyone but each other and just so happy to be together, I thought of us ten years ago, where every relationship was a drama and we never thought we'd find true love. I'm thrilled that things have changed for at least one of us!