It’s 15 past midnight and I’ve been drinking. I’m probably going to go have another glass of gin (if you follow me on Instagram, you know that this is my sudden preferred drink). Tanqueray 10, with Schweppes since I can’t get Fever Tree Tonic. With slices of lemon on the side, because I’m not an adult who has giant grapefruit in her house – which, in my opinion, goes the best with gins and tonic. Gins and tonics? G&Ts?

I’ve just been going through Facebook messages with people I had crushes on…10 years ago. I sound so unbroken. So believing. So cavalier. Poor child who didn’t know she had at least two more heartbreaks to get over. Incoming. Mayday!

I got on Tinder (because I am single, apparently, if you have read nothing on this blog lately) and I was travelling last month (oh the joys of escape). Nothing happened. Everyone’s trying to fuck. I was trying to have a coffee. Apparently Tinder is not the place for dates (not that I know where is). Not that I know where is. I have no idea where to meet people anymore. This is why Australians and Targaryens just date their cousins. It’s time and cost effective.

Tinder is a blow to an already frail ego. Either you swipe and no one swipes on you. Or you swipe on each other and no one messages. Or you message and no one replies. Then it dies a natural death when the other person unmatches with you because you haven’t sent any filtered pics of your vag, proving that you’re DTF. Honestly I don’t know how to operate in this nude saturated world. I can send a nude as well as anyone…to my friend groups. Strangers scare me. How am I supposed to meet a life partner through the quagmires of people who scare me? #StrangerDanger

Life partner. Scarring, apparently, from your past shit, doesn’t automatically result in you never wanting to love anyone again. I might want to love someone again. Because who’s going to kill small insects/rodents in my house, and/or provide constant entertainment, audience, and Faecal Frequency discussions?

I should stop here before the next drink.