Dear John….

I was sitting in the pub with my mates last night and my friend Pedro* was complaining to us that, in spite of his worst efforts (i.e. his best efforts at being an atrocious boyfriend), the girl he was dating would not take the hint and dump him (yes, apparently these people really do exist). After much discussion over the pro’s and con’s of Pedro’s approach, we reached the conclusion that he may have to bite the bullet and do the deed himself.

Our conversation then turned to how he might go about doing this. All of my suggestions were dismissed out of hand; primarily because they were mostly cruel and weaned from firsthand experience, but also because I’m not very accepting of the whole ‘dumping’ procedure, have never reacted very well to it (which is a shame because it happens quite frequently) and have probably not, therefore got the answer to the question ‘what’s the best way to dump someone?’.

I can, however, give you a well-researched and comprehensive run-down of how NOT to do it. Here goes:

Post-dumping Post-dumping involves dumping someone post (after) doing something really good or really bad. Post-coital, post-anniversary, post-redundancy, post-birthday or in the post-office are all fairly demeaning ways to dump someone. I was once dumped when bed-ridden after undergoing surgery the previous day (post-operative). My inability to chase the dumper out of the door was the stroke of genius that probably inspired the decision, but seemed a little unfair…

Pre-dumping Similar to ‘post-dumping’, but involving dumping someone pre (before) doing something really good or really bad. I was once dumped pre-moving house (1 week before). This was a double-whammy since it happened post-putting the deposit down on our new flat, and pre-packing for the move. My belongings reached Big Tone’s house in tear-stained, sweat-drenched boxes. On the upside, I managed to steal my ex-boyfriend’s entire DVD collection, since he wasn’t around to pack it. HA.

E-dumping Fairly self-explanatory. The surge in technical communications, personal communications devices and social networking sites have made e-dumping the easy-option in a fast-food world. I don’t recall being e-dumped as yet, but have had some close-call scrapes. To be fair, these could be down to my own ill-advised penchant for texting pre-thinking. I think I might be better built for the stone-age or similar. Perhaps if I had to collect wood, build a fire, rub sticks together and then wave a carpet around for 20 minutes, I might reconsider the vital importance / appropriateness of my communications before sending them out into the ether.

Drunken-dumping Occasionally a necessary evil, but nevertheless, evil. Particularly when the dumpee is drunk. Particularly when the dumpee is me. Particularly when the dumpee is me, and I’m drunk.

Facebook-dumping Could potentially fall under the same category as e-dumping. But the addition of public-humiliation and the potential for the dumpee to be at work when they discover that they are now single, puts this kind of dumping into a category in its own right. The ‘relationship-status’ facility on Facebook should definitely come with warnings. Something along the lines of:

'Are you sure you’re now ‘in a relationship’? Because whilst you may be in a joyous, ethereal state of happiness and contentment at this precise moment, have you considered how horrendous it is going to feel if and when you have to check the ‘single’ box again? You do realise that when you perform this action, Facebook will display a loveheart, for all to see, with a great big fucking rip down the centre of it almost as big as the chasm in your bleeding broken heart? ’

Hopefully Pedro will be able to come up with a solution to his relationship situation that does not involve any of the above. Failing that, he could go for either of the two solutions that our mutual friends came up with: 1. Throw her in the Thames to see if she floats or 2. Get her to read my blog….

*names changed to protect Pete’s identity

Stuff I liked this week

I STILL LIKE THIS: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=104228146274715&ref=ts

Very much!!: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=104228146274715&ref=ts

Beale killed in freak rocket crash

Eastenders has been making me giggle in the past few weeks. Those of you who bother to click on my ‘stuff I liked this week’ links, will know that Easties, or ‘Deadenders’ as I lovingly call it, brings me far more joy than any soap opera should. I mean – I like a soap opera. I watch Hollyoaks and I used to watch Neighbours and Home & Away (until I got a job..). And I’ll watch pretty much any American trash that is put on in front of me (although my increasing lack of tolerance for rich skinny brats is directly proportionate to my swiftly diminishing twenties). But I only watch that stuff because it’s on. Eastenders is one of the few programmes that I will specifically switch on the TV to watch. And it makes me laugh out loud.

When I was on my ‘gap year’, ‘finding myself’ for 8 months with my brother, I would call my Mum up and she would give me a weekly rundown of what was going on. Mum doesn’t usually watch Eastenders, but loves me so much that she took on ‘Deadenders Duty’, watching it in my absence and reporting back during our weekly phone call. ‘Your little brother got drunk yesterday and Mark’s going out with Lisa’ she would say, seamlessly blurring the lines of fiction and reality.

Anyway, Deadies seems to be going through something of a transition period at the moment. With the introduction of an online spinoff (I haven’t seen it yet) and whole gangs of teenagers infiltrating the Square, they appear to be trying to capture the imagination of the Hollyoaks audience whilst retaining their staple audience of housewives, families and anyone sane who is at home at 8pm (7.30pm on Tues/Thurs!). This inclusive approach to their plotlines and cast was beautifully demonstrated a few weeks ago when Whitney, step-daughter of Bianca, went to deepest darkest Balham and was confronted by a heinous gang-bitch. In a scene that wouldn’t have looked out of place in my year 8 drama class, a menacing teenager called Kylie, sporting a Croydon facelift and a hoody, towered over the cowering Whitney before describing her as ‘Butters’. To which Whitney helpfully responded ‘Who you calling ugly?’.

LOL! (as the kids say).

I would love to have been a fly on the wall at the meeting when this script was discussed:

“They’re visiting where? Loughborough Junction? Where’s that? Why don’t we just say they’re in Balham? Everyone knows Balham is dodgy…I mean….it’s in South London for God’s sake……..”

“She calls her what? Butters? I’m sorry, I don’t follow… Blud? What? Have I missed a page? Somebody’s going to have to translate..”.

Brilliant.

Come to think of it, I may just have discovered my new dream-job; Eastenders scriptwriter. Those people must have serious fun. They basically have free-reign to control the lives of 30-40 fictional lives with relatively few limits to their imagination. Implausible, laughable, physically impossible - they’ll find a way. Imagine their meetings: ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if the weediest, post-pubescent character on the square impregnated the fattest, slowest spinster on the square?’ or ‘..and then…she sleeps with his Dad!’ or ‘He accidentally kills her on a rake…!!’. The possibilities are endless. I’d have Ronnie and Roxy committing incest on the allotment, a miraculous makeover for Shirley and Libby, and Dot would accidentally get hooked on Mary Jane (or has she done that already?). Ian Beale would become like Kenny from Southpark, dying in every single episode in the most hideous way possible and Jack would get his kit off all the time for no apparent reason.

Right – I’m off to send my CV to the BBC. Wish me luck.

Stuff I liked this week

LIMITED EDITION is back on Easter Sunday at Jewel Bar. Get yourselves down…: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=104228146274715&ref=ts

Have you ever seen a Blue Peter Presenter with a tattoo?

So according to Nathan and the boys at Urban Elite, spring is here. As per usual, in a masterstroke of marketing prowess, they have attempted to manipulate the ladies of London into wearing less clothing when they attend ‘Switch It Up’ (at Ruby Lo, this Friday!!). Once again, they have taken a random event in the calendar (this month…spring) and tried to persuade us that this is a reason to forgo the advice of our fathers and to leave our thermals at home. In the autumn, they asked us to celebrate the ‘end of the summer’…..by wearing less clothes. In the winter, they asked us to ignore the constraints of the icy weather and liberate ourselves…..by wearing less clothes. And today, on a morning where I could still see my breath in the air as I ran (walked limply) for my train, I received an email from Nathan announcing that it is in fact SPRING, and in celebration of that fact, I should come along to ‘Switch It Up’ (at Ruby Lo, this Friday!!)….wearing less clothes.

Obviously I’m gonna do it.

Now. I feel like I have been a little remiss and have not been updating you properly on the comings and goings in my life. People have been asking after Bookshop Man, Big Tone etc after I introduced them to your lives. So I’ll take the opportunity to fill you in.

Bookshop man has moved bookshops. He is now only in my local branch a couple of days a week. And no amount of stalking can detect a distinct pattern. The purchase of my iPhone has also totally disturbed my reading habits. I quite literally haven’t read a book since I got it. I used to read a book every couple of weeks. Instead, I have been filling my time playing Scrabble, checking my Facebook profile and playing the single most addictive, yet pointless game known to man – ‘Doodlejump’. ‘Doodlejump’ entails tipping ones iPhone from side to side aid the ‘doodle’ in jumping from platform to platform. It doesn’t appear to have any levels (although I could be really rubbish at it). The ‘doodle’ simply jumps up and up until it falls down. And then you start again. Hours. Of. My. Life.

Meanwhile, my Bookshop Man worship has been further disturbed by my love life. I have spent the last 6 months vaguely dating a man who has what can only accurately be described as ‘periods’. Once a month, he dumps me, in a fit of self-doubt and confusion on the seriousness of the whole affair. I am getting seriously tired of his periods (I don’t know how you men put up with them). But I quite like him. Damnit.

Big Tone is fine, thank you very much. He announced at the weekend that he had a ‘spy’ reading my blog and checking that I wasn’t doing him a disservice. Thirty seconds of detective work, revealed that this ‘spy’ was in fact my step-mum Liz (hi Liz!). To be honest, I don’t think anything I’ve written would really offend him. He’s not really that touchy and rarely seems to be surprised by anything I do. A couple of weeks ago, for example, I got a new tattoo on my wrist. You can’t miss it. It’s right there on my arm. But Tone didn’t seem to mind. In fact, when I sheepishly showed it to him the day after I had it done, after checking that I would definitely need a skin graft to get it removed, I could see him genuinely scratching around in this head for something positive to say about it. ‘It’s good’, he kept saying. ‘It’s good’.

In the meantime, I have been having my reservations about it. I love it. It’s exactly what I wanted. But it occurred to me on the train this morning, that I might have unwittingly sabotaged my dream to become a Blue Peter Presenter. This is a serious concern. Might have to look into those skin grafts..

Stuff I liked this week

My new favourite singer. Saw her twice last week, at Ronnie Scotts and at the Soho Theatre. Incredible soulful voice and a wicked sense of humour on stage: www.myspace.com/krystlewarren / www.facebook.com/krystlewarren

Courtesy of my friend Mitton, the latest (scary) internet craze: http://www.chatroulette.com/

1987-1996 = The Glory years: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/classic/bluepeter/