I can't cook. I don't have the right brain for it, somehow. I can't walk into a room and tidy it up. I get distracted. I pick up one thing and I start looking at it. And my cooking is truly heinous.

I change my mind so much, I'm better going on my own. Shopping is a selfish activity anyway.

Jeez Louise. I know why rich people are so thin: it's from trekking around their humongous houses the whole time.

And we spend the rest of the evening getting very pissed and eating ice cream, as we always do when something good or bad happens to either one of us.

That's the way it goes. Some things happen and some things don't. This one is obviously just wasn't meant to be. Except deep down... I still believe it was.

The way I write is totally instinctive. I just write what I feel or what I find funny - and hope everyone else agrees.

Ciao," I say casually, and flick my hair back. "Si. Ciao." I could so be Italian. Except I might have to learn a few more words.