Is there a doctor in the house?

Ok. Well, have been a very busy young lady over the past few days. After the marathon, "get my house sorted out" session on Friday I went over to TB's house for a birthday party for one of his mates. We ended up in the arse end of the roughest part of his city in some very odd Thai restaurant where you had to take your own wine and the chef's children were colouring in at the table next to us. TB was rather poorly as he decided he was going to eat a dried chilli - idiot. He spent the reast of the meal guzzling milk and talking as if his tongue was too big for his mouth.
I had a lovely thai green chicken curry, although TB ended up eating most of it as he has an appetite four times the size of a normal human. It was a very strange place as when you went to the loo you had to walk through the lounge of the flat upstairs where there was a whole famkly just sat watching TV. I apologised as I squeezed past the sofa where they were all watching ITV and had to try and have the quietest wee in the world so as they wouldn't all hear what i was doing. (Not easy after a few large roses and gin and tonics).

After the meal, we went to this posh hotel for cocktails. Now, I had been sold this evening out as a casual get together with a load of his mates in some trendy bars in town. I was wearing very short shorts, a vest top, heels and a tailored jacket. It was therefore a little embarrasing to have to walk through someone's wedding reception in this hotel to get to the public bar with (as my mum would put it) my "arse hanging out". I tried to scurry off without being seen but unfortunately hotpants are yet to catch on as suitable wedding guest attire so my face was burning almost as much as TB's tongue by the time we made it to the bar.
After a few G&Ts we ambled on home and I took up residence on the settee again - I'm getting quite cosy now, TB and his flatmate have even started storing a little blanket underneath it for me!
I woke up in the morning without even a sniff of a hangover and laughed like a drain at the ill concealed squeals of pain from TB's toilet as the dried chilli made it's exit. Poor love.

Sunday was a walk in the park with one of my mates followed by tea and cakes in a local cafe. She is the girlfriend of one of supertwat's best mates so she filled me in on all the gossip. Apparently he was at a birthday party on Friday and my mate said he looked dreadful. She said he looked really dishevelled and was miserable all night. He's lost loads of weight, was dressed really badly and hardly spoke to anyone. She said that she plugged everyone for info about whether or not he was seeing anyone else but drew a complete blank. However, she did say that looking the way he did it would be highly unlikely that he was in a relationship as he looked so awful. I must admit I did feel a pang of something when she said this as I used to love looking after him but then thought that he really is a useless sod if he can't even make the effort to look presentable for someone's birthday.
My mate also agreed with me that him being on some serious drugs is a distinct possibility as apparently his behaviour has changed completely and he hardly ever even sees his old crowd of friends. I hope to god he's not as I'd hate his family to have to go through that.

I also received another e-mail from him saying that he was agreeing to pay £400 towards the divorce - god knows where this figure came from but I replied saying there was no way on God's earth that I was paying one penny after spending my life savings on the wedding!

By means of consolation for all that's happened lately, my mum took me shopping yesterday. I'm now the proud owner of yet more completely unsuitable shoes and even more clothes. My wardrobe is fit to bursting (I really must chuck a load of stuff out half of it doesn't even fit anymore!) If anyone doesn't hear from me in a while, I may well be wedged in my own wardrobe and struggling to get out from under a hundredweight of tops. Please contact the appropriate local emergency services if this is the case; I may require the fire brigade with some specialist cutting gear or maybe the coastguard with one of those helicopter winches.

I went training with TB last night.
One word...
Boxing.

Now, I'm not a naturally aggresive person (although ST may beg to differ after the stereo tossing gold medal) but this boxing thing brought out something rather unusual. TB showed me how to stand, how to jab, hook and punch and we started some maneouvres. I was a bit of a wimp to start off with and my wrists resembled limp sticks of celery but then TB asked me to imagine the pads were supertwat.

Good advice.

Twenty minutes later and to an imaginary bassline of "eye of the tiger" I was still thwacking seven bells out of TB's gloves. I was rather attractive with sweat pouring down my face but I couldn't seem to stop punching. TB had me doing all sorts of combinations and soon I was dancing around like Amir Khan, jabbing TB and hooking as though I was in a ring in Vegas.
TB kept laughing at me though as he couldn't believe someone so small had such a mean right hook or that I could keep going for so long. He then had me doing all sorts of weights, running on my trampoline, abs floor work and running up and down my stairs. Before I knew it, 2 hours had passed and we only stopped because my legs were so tired that I missed one of the stairs and ended up falling flat on my face and slipping down 6 stairs into an ungainly heap on the floor.
By this time I was soaked through, red as a beetroot and breathing so hard I thought I was going to have some sort of cardiac arrest.
TB thought the whole thing was hilarous (especially me falling down the stairs - I can't see Khan doing that on his way into the ring at his next prize fight), and I was just exhausted but felt great that I'd unleashed some energy and pent up aggresion. I can highly recommend boxing then for anyone who has been through a recent break up. Whacking someone really hard (albeit someone in pads) is great therapy and TB reckons we're going to do it again on Thursday.

Anyway, today is a slightly different kettle of fish. Ages ago I agreed to meet a friend of a friend for a drink. He's a trainee spinal surgeon and semi pro rugby player. He's six foot, blonde and gorgeous and apparently likes the look of me as he's seen some pics of me at my mate's. I don't really want to go as I feel odd about TB but I agreed ages ago and don't want to let my mate down. You never know, I might enjoy myself but it certainly feels weird agreeing to go for a drink with someone else right now - even if I'm not technically in a relationship with TB. Will keep you posted though; it's not every day you get to go out with a sporty "Doctor Kildare" and if nothing else it's an ego boost to know that someone like this is interested in me. So, I'm off to don something appropriate (probably a cagoul and wellies today if this weather doesn't dry up) and set off to see the doc.

So, wish me luck folks. I can barely move my arms today after TB's superheavyweight Frank Bruno style workout so if the Dr tries anything on then I'm unlikely to be able to fight him off - eek!

Will pop back on tomorrow or Thursday and let you know how it went and update with more of ST's world of bizarre and twisted guides to logic.

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P.S Just in case anyone thinks I'm being mean to TB, I told him where I was going today and he's fine about it. He knew last night actually and said that was why he worked me so hard - so that I'd be too tired to do anything!