I do not, by any means, claim to be an agony aunt – a love guru – a relationship genius. However, I am in a relationship, and have had ones previously, so I feel I’m at least a little qualified to discuss the following topic…

Shitty boyfriends. (Don’t worry Chris! This article isn’t about you.)

I have some beautiful friends, both inside and out. Whilst having dinner with one of them last night, we stumbled upon the topic of her and her love life. Perhaps you’ll be able to empathise with her situation:

Lauren (name changed in case shitty boyfriend reads this) has been in an on/off relationship for around 4 years. During this time, she and this man have had a series of ‘breaks’. Lauren is smitten with the guy, she absolutely loves him and cannot, as much as she tries to, seem to break away from that feeling. She has no idea what she would do without him and so every time they take time apart, they inevitably come back to each other – they make up, think things are great, start to argue and go ‘on a break’ again.

It is like Lauren has a spell over her that she cannot break, and no matter how badly shitty boyfriend treats her, when he says or does nice things, all is forgiven. Lauren has never met her boyfriend’s friends, and her boyfriend never wants to meet Lauren’s. Their relationship is very insular and, by the sounds of it, pretty unhealthy.

Most recently, shitty boyfriend decided he was unhappy, that he wanted another ‘break’, a chance to ‘figure out what he wants’ in life. Lauren is now confused, does this guy just not want to be with her? How many breaks can a couple have?

I asked her the following questions: Firstly, what even is a ‘break’ and does it actuallyachieve anything do you think? Secondly, do you see your future with this guy? Not the idealised partner you wish/hope he would be, but the reality of what you know him to be. Thirdly, does he worship the ground you walk on?

To the first question, she really didn’t have an answer. I suggested this; breaks are a waste of bloody time. Either you want to be together, or you don’t. Every relationship has issues, arguments, disagreements – these are often healthy, in moderation. But ultimately, as pissed off as you are, you should still love your partner, still want to make up and be together. If you are waring on each other, time apart can be healthy, but most important of all is working through things – or taking a step back and realising you’re just not right for each other. A ‘break’ is a way to do what you want whilst still owning the other person. It leaves people confused and it solves nothing.

To the second question, she said ‘well… yessss’ in an unsure tone, so I clarified about the reality rather than the dream, to which she said no. No, she could not see her future with this man, who treats her badly and has no idea how much she loves and cares for him, even worse – he actually takes these feelings for granted.

To the final question, the answer was a sad, but resounding no. Lauren has a family like mine – she has grown up with a father who adores her mother and a mother who loves him back. She has seen real love and how much a man can care about a woman and she can say categorically that he does not feel this way about her. This concerns me more than anything because if he isn’t crazy about you now, he might never be. Lauren is a sweet, loving girl. She cares about people and she wants her parter to care back. She will never be happy with anything less and to be honest, who would be. Women – if you are in a predicament like Lauren ask yourselves these questions, and if you get the same answers as she did, I think you have to see the relationship isn’t good for you.

Now I realise I’ve painted a horrible picture of this man, and I’m not exactly sorry (he is hurting one of my best friends) but I think it’s also important to note that people don’t always realise how they’re behaving, or how much they are hurting someone. This guy may look back in a couple of years and think, ‘bugger, I really screwed that up, what an idiot’. He is young, he doesn’t know what he wants – that’s fair, who really knows that in their 20′s anyway – who really knows that at any stage. But ultimately, if he cares about Lauren at all, he needs to let her go because he is not good for her, and clearly at this point in his life, she is not right for him.

For Lauren, I came to the following conclusion: you need to have a bit more respect for yourself – as a nice girl, as a woman, as someone who wants a happy future. She knows that if she stepped out of her life and looked down, she would be telling herself to get out. Well life is short, and if you can tell yourself that then why the hell are you wasting time?

Get out – do something to break away from this life you’ve known; I was in the same predicament as Lauren until I went travelling and realised life didn’t have to be like that. Ok, travelling isn’t for everyone, but you have to find your escape and stick to it. And just ignoring his calls isn’t going to cut it. I hope you have the strength to follow this advice, Lauren, and I hope other women in this situation can have more respect for themselves – start living YOUR lives. Finally, there are some wonderful men in the world: don’t give up.

Who said pumpkins had to be scary?

Leaves and lines inspired this Halloween’s carving creations.

Why is it, when some people are fortunate enough to retire from work, they seem to feel the need to retire from life entirely? I can’t think of a much bleaker future than hitting my 65th birthday and resigning myself to a slowly reclining chair for the rest of eternity. “Albert! Happy retirement darling. I got you a nice beige chair to waste the last 40 years in. Shall we?” No bloody thank you. Why do people just give up?

I had a couple of friends over this weekend and offered them the standard tour of the house, including the glamorous garage. My brothers motorbike was sitting proud so I pointed that out to my friends, and then added that my dad’s bike obviously isn’t here because my parents have taken it to Margate to see my grandparents for the evening. My friends seemed to think I was joking, and found the whole concept highly amusing – two 55 year olds cruising down to the sea-side on a Friday night on a red motorbike. Clearly this is not something their parents do of an evening. It does make me chuckle too, I must admit, but more so in a chuffed way, because it makes me laugh to think how little how they let ‘ageing’ affect them, compared to how much others do. (I should add here, incase the rents read this, that I am NOT insinuating you are both old, just cool for your age!)

Last summer, mum and dad jumped on that touring bike and cruised round the whole of europe. They were like a pair of kids calling every evening to tell us how fast they went, or that they were currently licking an ice cream looking at an awesome view. To my mind, this is what retirement should be like; an opportunity to do all those cool things you spent your life working for, saving for. If not, what’s the point really? What’s the use in just, existing, if you never really live?

I don’t know about you, but I’d far rather be living life like them than playing boule and using the excuse ‘my limbs aren’t what they used to be’ when I reach those middle to late years. You’re 60 for gods sake! Not 110. (This is an acceptable age to use this phrase, I feel). My grandparents are well into their 80s now. My Granddad still pops up to London most days to continue his work for the hospital. My Gran took an art degree at 70 years of age and they both travel out most weekends to sketch and draw together. My Great-grandmother lived to be 103 and was still RUNNING the care home she was in until a couple of years before she passed. And did you see the Great North Run the other day? The oldest runner was… wait for it… 90. 90 years old and cracking out a cool 13 miles for charity, just casual. So don’t tell me you’re retired and that’s it. Life done. If I live to be good and old, I can hope for only one thing, to be like my family, and do just that : LIVE!

What a bleak crappy day. I slogged my way up to London in the drizzly rain with delays and three changes to really make things cheerier, only to go to the most depressing recruitment interview I have ever encountered.

The recruitment office was situated in this one small room cramped room in poky, rundown building. And rather than having a separate room to go and discuss your desperate attempts to score a job you actually want within, one has to sit on the sofa, with the other 4 members of staff all sitting a couple of feet away and pretending not to listen to your tragic desire to do a job you enjoy.

The woman I met with spent a good 10 minutes describing a job she though I might be able to do, ‘to be in conference production you need a lot of tenacity. They’ll be look for someone with a 2:1 at least, excellent research skills, A’s at ALevel……’ I let her carry on like this for a few more minutes, and when she had finally exhausted her extensive list, I paused, then added ‘…I see. So do you not think my 2:2 might be a bit of a disadvantage then?’

When I put this to my friend later, he didn’t seem to think it could have been that bad. ‘Hey, I’m sure it went fine.’ Unfortunately, however, I can assure you that it did not go fine. Not at all. She quite literally shouted ‘Oh my god!’ when I told her my degree grade.

And then a lot of awkward shuffling and backtracking followed as she corrected herself and assured me that OF COURSE it wasn’t a BAD thing, getting a 2:2, it’s absolutely FINE!

Damage done actually. So thanks for that. I spent the rest of the interview torn between laughing at her spluttering mistake, thinking what an excellent blog piece her cock up would make and wanting to cry quite a lot.

I emerged feeling more deflated than ever.

You should never underestimate the bond between an owner and their dog. Take Barley for instance, my enormous and utterly loveable Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy.  He loves nothing more than to snuggle in on your lap for a ginormous hug, and paws at me of an evening so I’ll get off the comfy sofa, onto the floor, so he can sit on me. His life consists of eating, sleeping, playing with his red ball and cuddling, and he just loves everyone. SO MUCH. He’s desperate to please and will love his family until the end of time.

Today, I was sat at the computer applying for yet another job, Barley patiently sitting on my feet. He suddenly jumped up, with a mischievous look on his face and his ears stuck out in an inquisitive motion as if a sudden idea had come to him. I looked over and paused for a moment, holding his gaze… ‘Walkies?!’ I asked.

His response was a significant head tilt and a look that said ‘Oh my god. REALLY HARRI? WALKIES?! Do you mean it??’ ‘Yes, that’s right Barley, WALKIES!!’ Utter excitement, spinning around and him chasing my feet as I tried to reach the lead followed.

I decided to take him up to the top of Reigate Hill today, a walk we don’t go on often. He lead the way, delighted to be out and about sniffing various animals faeces. Great times! He kept looking back at me as I puffed my way up the hill as if to say ‘Come on!’ and ‘is this right? Am I still doing ok?!’ I would respond every now and then by cheering him on and telling him what a GOOD BOY he was for walking and sniffing and having a good time.

Every now and then, he would discover the most enormous stick, and treat it as if he had NEVER SEEN A STICK BEFORE. He’d hurl it into the air in a clumsy fashion and then catch it tumbling down and gallop off, lags flailing everywhere in his excitement. I’m sure you can picture him, leaping about in the afternoon sun, occasionally taking out some poor passer by from behind with the enormous tree in his mouth.

Sometimes, he would notice another stick, which looked EQUALLY AMAZING, and would be utterly torn between carrying his current stick, and opting for a quick switch over. The whole scenario is highly amusing to encounter, and generally ends with him going into what my Dad has fondly named ‘fruit loop mode’. This is where the ginormous Ridgeback gets so overwhelmed with the excitement of all the sticks, and mud, and poo’s and general exercise that he curls up his body and pelts round and round in circles, stopping every now and then to check if you fancy chasing him.

When we got to the top of the hill, we stopped and looked out at the view of the south downs. He just sat there, by my side, wind blowing at his floppy ears, looking very content. A passer by would have noticed I too looked pretty chuffed with life. Me and my dog, enjoying an afternoon running up the hill, and stopping only to realise how great it is to have one another.