Tell him you have a secret. Let him know that you're holding back a small tiny nugget of truth.

Dangle before him and let aforementioned nugget stew

at gas mark 6.

For three months.

that about 6 months ago, I mentioned to a friend that I had never received a dozen red roses

And all I got him was chocolates of the non spreadable kind...

He may wear Girlpants, but I love him

The eve before the most romantic day of the year, and the Journal of Soci-Economics reports on a new research project on marriage, entitled

"Does Marriage make people happy or do happy people get married?"

Apparently at 18months in, both Girlpants and I should now expect our honeymoon to be over. Marriage all goes downhill from here on in. And God help us if we have children in the next two years as apparently that would really pi$$ on our marriage parade as well. We might be able to look forward to a slight happiness revival in years 3 to 5, but other than that, we won't know if we have a successful relationship until our ruby anniversary.

Optimism is a wonderful thing to have large doses of.

Sim - Oooo! Ecilop van parked up!

(pointing to the other side of the road)

Girlpants - Really?

Promptly driving past speed camera

I may mock him, but Girlpants and I are a little bit soppy. Since we were introduced by the power of the Billinghursts, we've spoken and msgd each other every day. From the moment I moved in, bar three occasions, we've never spent a night apart - not even the night before the wedding as Girlpants so quaintly put it:

Girlpants - They've probably guessed that we've shagged already, Missy White Wedding, so what's the point?

Succinct, my man.

The only times when we have been parted have been for courses. Or jollies in his case. Once when I went to Alton Towers the University of Staffordshire on a forensic course, and twice when he's been sent on a jollie to pastures green. Namely Germany and Guernsey.

Now, usually, Girlpants likes me to come with him on these trips. It could be because the places are cold at the times of year when he visits and I keep his feet warm, but we both know that it's mainly because we're soppy and don't really like to be apart.

Especially when he's having all the fun, giving interviews to Radio Guernsey.

Take this morning for instance. I woke up ultra ultra early as I had a 9am lecture and there was no Girlpants to kick me out of bed for a cuppa. And I waited until 8am until I gave him a quick call and a text, but he was tired and had little time, so it was a short sweet conversation.

So I was quite glad when a text arrived at 5pm tonight saying, "in room, call me x x x". Now I'm not saying I programmed the hotels number in speed dial, but within 30 seconds, I had called. We chatted about our respective days - me slogging on the laptop for a assignment tomorrow and giving myself a crick in the neck, and he giving presentations in a happy clappy shave your pits Christian Centre.

These are not important things, but they ritually start and end each of our days. He brushes his teeth and I tell him gossip. I taxi him home from work and he tells me "stuff" about his day as well as any inner office relationship gossip. These are trivial and non-important things that we chat about, but hell, gossip is addictive and by talking about the stuff in our day, we make each other part of our day.

So I wasn't impressed when we were interupted, when the doorbell, newly fixed and now working, rang, and whilst still chatting, I went to answer the door, only to look at a big tall butch guy. He didn't even wait for my greeting - he just dived on in asking:

Double Glazing Guy - Hello madam, do you have a minute?

Sim - Err...

DGG - My names John and I'm <holds up smeered dog eared ID card> from You Don't Need What I'm Selling You Double Glazing Company.

Sim - This isn't important, is it? <starts sarcastically pointing to mobile held to ear>

DGG - I was wondering if you were interested in double glazing?

Sim - No - if you actually look at our home, we've done our own <goes to shut door>

DGG - Really madam? Could you possibly tell me where you got your fixtures from and who fitted them?

Sim - Grrr...

Maybe it's training? Maybe he's thick skinned after countless doors being slammed in his face? Maybe, he was about to get his head snapped off? Maybe I had been pointlessly studying all day and banging my head against a chemical equation wall? Maybe, I had just finished watching an episode of Scrubs before calling Girlpants, and it was there, slam bang in my mind into a mini explosion just waiting to be ranted...

Sim - Listen Shirley. Our windows are new, and no, before you ask, we don't want to buy a door from you to replace our nice thick wooden door because no matter what price you quote, I can guarantee you that we can get it cheaper elsewhere. Now unless you're dying, deaf or blind, you can see I am on my mobile - a long distance don't you know call, because according to the bloody mobile company, Guernsey is foreign despite the +44 dial code and this is costing me a bomb. What's that Shirley? Nothing to say? Didn't want to offer me the Everest lifetime guarentee?? Have you given up pestering me on my doorstep where clearly I didn't invite you and even more so I clearly don't wish to speak to you? If so, thank you. Not interested. Goodbye.

And all I could hear, quietly, on the other end of the line was:

Girlpants - Whose Shirley?

"It's the paparazzi's fault. They chased me and forced me into a corner, endangering my baby"

Really Britney? So that big burly bouncer next to you couldn't have driven or taken the wee lad off your lap and into his nice safe car seat?

I've got three words for you blondie, and they're in the header

Moron

Lately, there's been an advertising campaign telling women to kick their men out of bed. It's known nas the lenor complex - the duvet and sheets smell so good, that you find excuses to get the bed alone. Strange knickers in the glove box, claiming that the postmans at the door or even accidently kicking the door closed when they go out for the milk.

This time, I've won the the war of the duvet. The bed is mine and only the cats with the smelly bums are there to contend. For Girlpants has gone away to places exotic. Another jolly. Only this time, he gets to shiver his skinny arse in Guernsey...

There is a God :o)

An island in the channel. With half a tanker visable offshore. And wind chill. The hotel does sound wonderful, and he gets to teach in the local Christian Centre. He didn't sound impressed but personally, I think it sounds wonderful. I think that he making a big deal of it and his complaining, but it's only because how he's feeling. Despite the meal, university expenses and the big queen size bed, he still misses me.

I may really really miss him.

But I don't miss the cold feet.

And I love the fact I have all of the duvet...