Dear Diary

Well, what a sorry tale to tell – the writing on the wall as it were. My suspicions proved founded and I have subsequently been dumped, yet again. Boring. Handling it remarkably well so far, but I guess that's because I'm still kind of shell-shocked, and moving through the angry stage. The sadness is yet to come. Particularly painful knowing that he's been hanging out with, and fancies a 25year old who works with me at the Acorn!

My Thursday night phone call didn't go well as I could tell he was uncomfortable talking to me. Tried to arrange something for Friday – he suggested the Contemporary Cornwall art exhibition opening at the Tate, but that was complicated by me having to take Eddie up to Porthtowan first, to get a lift with the others up to Bristol airport, ready to jet off to Portugal. Then when I asked where he was as I could hear voices in the background, and he said he was at the Acorn, I felt really miffed. In town, and hadn't bothered to contact me, or pop round? Hung up feeling quite shaky. Sent another text message asking him to call round on his way home. Waited and waited. Rang again – his phone switched off. Waited. Tried to go to sleep but head spinning and stomach churning. Eventually had to get up, get dressed and drive out there – full of trepadition, fearing the worst but hoping the outcome would be me climbing into bed with him, and us making love.

Ha. No such thing.

Cold as a fish, unemotive and unempathetic. Same old same old. Can't be with me because... Challenged him as to why he can't ever be honest with me – actually talk to me, treat me with respect, but he couldn't come up with an answer or reason even then. And there I was, being all excited about the fact that we'd gone a whole year without a bust-up, and looking forward to doing something exciting for Valentines, and wham, rug pulled out in one swift movement. Tops it off by smugly saying, 'I've met someone', to which my women's intuition correctly deduces is Beth.

May she burn his fingers good and proper. I really hope she lets well alone, but if she does dabble, he deserves a spectacular fall-out/melt-down post-fling experience. In all truth, I hope he never gets another shag ever, Mojo carks it, work dries up completely, and he has a thoroughly, miserable, sad old time of it. Bastard. He can stay out there and rot.

Drove back home, went to bed. Texted my girlie buddies, and Beth. Couldn't sleep a wink (surprise surprise). Was trying to hold it together in the morning – getting the kids up and ready for school etc., but when Wendy called round to see if I was ok, I started to blub. Bless her, she offered to run Billy up to Heamoor as it was hideously late with promises to get together later.

Went into the Cornish World office, not at all in the mood to polish off the articles I'd been doing. Checked my emails, pfaffed around for a bit, and ended up writing the following poem:

Dumped

Dumped.
Freshly dumped
Newly dumped
Lumped back into the singles scene
with a rib-cracking thump.

Bruised heart barely pumping
Nerves bristling, jumping
Mood, downwardly slumping

Dumped again kind of dumped.
Badly dumped
Sadly dumped
Stumped, as to why he’s so mean
and feel like a chump.

Get the hump.

Change crumpled bed-sheets
for pristine clean
Smooth out the bumps
Remove any lumps
Sleep on it.

Get up in the morning,
Grumpy
Still dumped
and feeling like shit.

Immediately after I had a text from Beth, who said did I want to talk? Couldn't really at the time, but texted back to say not to worry – didn't blame her or anything and not her fault. Bumbled through the day, then headed straight to the pool to do some therapy laps. Pushed for time though, sending a text to him to make sure he was all packed and ready to go by the time I got back. Turned out, there bus from Truro had been re-routed because of some horrific accident, so he'd only walked in the door 5mins beforehand.

At this point I freaked. Had a go at Rosie who was asking what time we were leaving because she was babysitting for Matt and Nancy. I'm screaming at her 'I don't know', struggling to get myself changed and ready, and not coping at all. Yelling at Eddie to hurry up the whole time as well. Also stressy as I needed to get hold of a ticket, as Graham had the one for me. Zoomed up the A30, dumped Ed and zoomed straight over to St Ives wondering what the hell I was doing as I knew I'd be upset by seeing Graham, (my masochistic tendencies coming to the fore).

The Tate was like Paddington central. Hideously crowded and I just felt utterly lost. Wandered round morosely, unable to concentrate on any of the art (most of which was crap), bumping into people but not really being in the mood for any conversation. Was trying to find Sarah P who insisted I come, but didn't until the very end, when at the exact same time Graham came into my peripheral vision. Felt sick. Then Beth came up behind to say hi, and I had to peg it. Just ran. Couldn't handle it at all. Tried to hide away by putting headphones on and watching the peephole tango installation. Really beautiful, but the voice-over cut me up. All about sensuality, romance, entwining limbs etc. Torturous to listen to, but so moving.

Declined the offer to join the others in the pub, heading back to Penzance, and a Wendy haven instead. A bottle of wine, and sisterly company was exactly what I needed – that and a sofa to sleep on as no way did I want to be going home. Went to sleep with the Newlyn harbour lights twinkling and woke in the morning with a gorgeous view of the bay.

Was modelling first thing, which was good. Good to be busy, and good to have all that wonderful praise heaped upon me that I always get from everybody. Michele gave me the picture she'd painted of the last pose, which had me with wings. I look like a bloke in it, but the wings are beautiful – inspirational I think – and a sign. I'm free, and I need to fly again.

Grabbed the kids and drove up to Tehidy for a birthday party in the woods with the Bash St mob. Brilliant to be out in nature, but was freezing to death by the end of it, despite the fire they lit and which I was almost standing in I was that close. Obviously, really not in the mood to be sociable either, but again it was good to be occupied, and not have to dwell on things. The kids went off to nippers when we got back, and then back to Terry's – the first weekend he's had them in months, and one which I was hoping to have spent at Grahams... typical.

Hooked up with the book group posse to walk to Longrock, and Joan's 60^th birthday party. Stunning night with a bright full moon, the silvery light playing on the water, and crisply defined stars. Got stuck into the wine, and enjoyed chatting to folk. Nice to meet Di's sister who's a poet, and had some positive strokes about my parenting from a head teacher when we were talking kids. Patrick was serenading (bloody brilliant that guy is), so more than happy to loll about on the sofa listening to him doing his thing.

Walked back into town, and convinced Pat he should accompany me to the Studio Bar. Ended up singing some backing vocals with Hannah and Colin which was exactly what I needed. Jolly good fun. And chatted to Hadrian after too. Staggered home via Hannah's for a cup of tea, feeling not in the slightest bit maudlin, fell into bed, waking up this morning fully clothed – coat, belt, the works. Had only managed to remove my boots!

Slightly fuzzy headed to begin with to say the least. Fantastic sunny day outside, so plucked up the courage to text Beth, and ask if she were up for meeting, and going for a walk somewhere. Thankfully she said yes. I offered to drive to hers, which was out at Rinsey. Awkward to begin with, but not as painful as I'd anticipated. Still not entirely sure of her feelings about Graham – whether she is slightly interested, or whether it's all just totally in his head. Needed to off-load/clear the air/get some answers, and succeeded. I expect she'll carry on seeing him, and hanging out as a 'friend', but I'm hoping she'll have some sensitivity about it, and some respect for me through it all. She gave the impression that she knew where I was coming from, but at the same time, was acting pretty naively, by sending him text messages after the Tate debacle, saying how much she'd enjoyed the evening with him. And she'd gone back to his place afterwards, so it's all on dodgy territory really.

Anyway, it's totally out of my hands now. Must admit I was well pissed off when she told me that her mum had had a conversation with Graham at the diddly-dee session at the Star, where she'd said something along the lines of 'So how's Fi?' to which he replied 'I wouldn't know'. And so she said 'Aren't you two together then?' and he said 'No, we're not'. Cunt. What a low life to say a thing like that. Unbelievable.

Had a coffee in the sandbar; talked about life, men, writing, and stuff in general. Felt embarrassed to see Frank and Cazza and that lot there, as Nancy had sussed out something rotten, and they'd have seen Beth with Graham at the Tate as well. Was a strange thing to be doing – talking to the 'other' woman. When we'd got back to her place, I gave her copies of the 'dumped' poem, and the one I wrote in a similar headspace a year and a half ago about hearing what I wanted to hear. Don't know what she made of them as not heard anything back – probably thinks that I'm a totally shit writer now. Oh well.

When I got home, a poorly snotty Rosie was in my bed watching trashy TV. Insisted she drag herself out with me to Sennen as it was criminal to be indoors on such a gorgeous day. The sea air and salt water would do her good. Decided not to go in for a surf though in the end, waves were rubbish – met up with Ade and Heidi instead for a coffee in the pub. Really is so nice to spend time with me mates – don't do it often enough, and will resent not being able to do so for weeks on end starting as of next week. Bollocks.

So a roller coaster few days that's for sure. Am debating how I'm going to successfully avoid/blank out Graham completely but still do Pondlife. I'm determined not to be friends any more. Doesn't work. We get too close and it ends back up in this pathetic cycle, which I cannot be doing with, ever again. Why I would even contemplate wanting to be friends with him after all that's happened, and the way he in which he's continuing to behave so appallingly, I don't know. Will be tricky trying to keep a civil tongue in my head that's for sure, but can't lay that on the Pondlifers at rehearsal, so will have to be on my best behaviour. Had a wicked text exchange with Paul earlier, who despite his gruff, arsiness at times, was so sweet in offering tea and sympathy. Bless. He suggested that I write down 'I must not shag Graham', so I said, 'how about a tattoo, somewhere near me fanny? And one on Graham's head saying *TOSSER*, as well as having his dick surgically removed.' Well you have to laugh. I don't need sympathy, I need my head read for being such a sucker.

Here's to a fresh start, and a new, empowered Fi-loving Fi.