...picked myself up from the floor after Beso's claim that she loved me. I did come to a couple of times over the course of the last fortnight; but each time thought 'How did this happen ?', and fainted again when the answer came to me.

Now my family, hoping I wasn't going to wake from my coma, have claimed all of my possessions. Great.

I have also just learned that Sly Stallone is going to appear in 'Rocky VI' and 'Rambo IV' soon. The world has gone apescat. Although I am secretly crossing my fingers for 'Cobra 2'.

What ridiculous sequels do you think it would be horrific yet hilarious to release ? I'll start the ball rolling with 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid 2'.

...roundup of some stuff wot's been going on recently :

- A good chum visited me for the first time at The Edge Of The World, travelling all the way from The Ants' Nest. He was treated to a Queen tribute band playing out of the back of a lorry, and a party on the beach in the night with a bonfire and decks. Summer rules.

- Myself and some other chaps went out in a boat on Sunday. We attached a big rubber ring behind it, and had to hold on for dear life as the driver tried to shake Surf-Film-Maker Chap and myself off, as we bounced around in the boat's wake. Extra incentive not to fall in was provided by the massive fuckoff jellyfish that were floating around. About two feet in diameter. Ick.

- I need to learn to be more economical with my opinions. A friend of mine was enthusing about her new man.
"He tells me facts. I like that. For example, he knows the names of all the trees. Including in Latin," she said.
"He sounds boring," says tactful Mr Squash.
Later that day...
"Thanks for spoiling [my new man] for me. I went to his flat, and he was excitedly telling me how he was preparing for going mountain climbing; and all I could hear in my head was you saying 'He sounds boring'. Thanks. *A lot*."

Now I have a request. Does anybody know anyone who's got together with their significant other online ? I know we have a few couples who met through 20Six - but I suspect that, in most of those cases, the sparks started flying when they met in person, rather than before. Or am I wrong ? Were there any foregone conclusions sight unseen ? Or do you know anyone whose love blossomed online first, and then in person ? I am writing an article as part of a series about love in the 21st century, and am looking for peeps to interview. Any thoughts ?

Erm... That's it.

...web-trawlers are bound to have seen this already. But, if not :

media.guardian.co.uk/site/story/0,,1823110,00.html

It's absolutely blinding. Can't beat it. It's bound to come in handy etc etc etc.

...dating tonight. Has anyone here been ? Is it nerve-racking ? What should I wear ? Should I employ a strategy ? Or just try really hard not to lick all my suitors' faces ?

I rarely put myself 'out there' so brazenly. So it was a little disturbing when, whilst playing squash yesterday, I was hit full-force in the face by a squash ball from a range of only a couple of metres. I'm surprised it didn't go right through my head. It bled, and I got a fat lip and a lump on my cheek. Fortunately, the swelling has gone down now. Which is just as well, as surely no-one would pick the 'Elephant Man' box.

Your thoughts on speed dating, please. Also, I still want people to tell me about finding love online. Thank you!

...Surf-Film-Maker Chap at his place of work :

Lemonsquash : If you could choose your own afterlife, what would you have ?
Surf-Film-Maker Chap : Well, I may be godly - but I don't think I'm quite up to that standard yet.
LS : Nah, just hypothetically. I know what I'd like.
SFMC : Go on...
LS : A DVD of my own life. So basically you could either relive or watch bits as many times as you like. So, say, you could pick August 2004 at random, and relive that whole month. And then pick a best bit, and do it over as many times as you liked. And you could just cut out all the shitty bits.
SFMC : That's interesting.
LS : What made me thought of it was that I'd love to see myself getting hit in the face with that squash ball. I bet it was hilarious. You could watch it again from all different angles.
SFMC : I like the Sky choose your point-of-view thing. Mine would be a bit different, though.
LS : How's that ?
SFMC : Well, a load of different DVDs - of *everyone's* lives.
LS : Ah yes. I was thinking too small. You could have all of those, as well as your own.
SFMC : Exactly. So you could find out what it feels like to be [The Odd Male] in one of his grumps! [Pulls exceptionally grumpy face]
LS : Hmmm. You see - I was thinking about being a great leader riding into battle. Or getting jiggy with Marilyn Monroe. I like that you just want to be [The Odd Male].

...wot happened on the speed-dating.

Ok, it was terribly organised. Like, *really* terribly organised. It was in a small room in a rugby club. Yet, despite the room's lack of size, it was still mostly empty. There were eleven people in all, and two of them were journalists. Well, three of them if you count me. And, I don't know if this is the usual form on these things, but everyone was already talking to each other before it started, which surely defeats the purpose to a degree ?

Plus, we had a bunch of spectators on the other side of the rugby club bar. Great.

So there were five girls, one of whom I knew from a local paper, whose boyfriend I know well. So essentially four. So it was over in twelve minutes, pretty much.

I learned a lesson in prejudice, though. There was one 'Zoo'-esque plastic fantastic girl, who - though hot - had a salon tan, shocking blue contacts, and enormous breasts on full display. When I arrived, she was already deep in conversation with a meathead rugby lad, so I wrote her off straight away. Instead, I had my eye on a little cutie. She was short, had bunches, ripped jeans, and a slightly alternative look. So I decided I wanted to like her.

First, I spoke for four minutes with non-entity single mother, making pretty rubbish small-talk. Then there was plastic fantastic. I had decided that it would be too obvious to like her, so I'd pretty much decided not to. But she was absolutely charming. We bantered like instant chums, and she'd lived in New Zealand too, so I told her my Heli-Whore story, which she seemed to enjoy. I was sad when the four minutes were up.

I had a free slot next, and one of the organisers came over to speak to me. She was very brambly, and rolled her eyes a lot. She fessed up - almost as a boast - that she hadn't even heard of speed dating before her friend and colleague suggested they start up a business doing it. I elected not to tell her that this was pretty obvious. After she almost sliced my face off for suggesting booths or screens in future, I pretty much had to explain the difference between constructive criticism and having a pop to her.

Next up was brainwashed girl, who spoke very slowly and slightly vacantly. She told me she wanted a dog, but wasn't allowed pets because she lived with her houseproud parents. I asked her what she'd call a dog if she had one. She considered this for a good thirty awkward seconds, before coming out with "Henry". I told her that was a noble name. The bell rang. I heaved a sigh.

Then there was alternative girl with bunches. And she was just terrible. Everything I said either went over her head, or was contested. At one point, she accused me of coming along to write it up for an article, and firing a load of "pre-prepared questions". I told her that I was writing an article, but I was also single, and happy to look for love, make friends or have a giggle. And I hadn't prepared any questions - I was just inquiring about her off the top of my head. That's what it's all about, isn't it ? She dismissed my earnest defence. By the time the bell rang, I felt that she could royally fuck off.

Lastly I had journo girl, who is essentially a friend anyway. So I told her that I was going to tick her box (now, now), and plastic fantastic's. As the organisers tallied the ticks, I looked over and saw plastic fantastic's sheet - as plain as the nose on your face. She had ticked the meathead, and only the meathead.

I had a semi-row from bramble woman for having suggested in the comments box that there should be an orgy afterwards; and I left shortly after with the other journos so that we could have a pint and a good old bitch. We'd basically spent £20 each to meet a couple of people in a pub. Dear oh dear.

The evening improved dramatically after that, due to cider, wine, and 'Night Of The Living Dead'.

Now I have to write an article about how great the evening was, as the company have just spent a load of money on advertising with us. I am at a loss.

...have only one week left to work. I was just told this in a chat with Curly Boss over my picnic table; in-between a cross-examination concerning my love-life, and anecdotes about scat.

Oddly enough, I feel relieved. This is curious because I am doing a job that I love, and that people seem to love me doing. And it will be as good as over imminently.

So why am I relieved ? Well, I have been at the Edge Of The World for too long. I am starting to find the small-town mentality grating. I want to be able to go to eat international food again. I want to try and fail with women in a wider gene pool. And it was my 'ideal' job that was tying me to where I am. I have pretty much given up hope of finding love with Nooma, and now other hapless suitors can step into the breach.

It's the end of another era. And, though I have enjoyed it immensely, I must now seek adventure elsewhere.

Question is - do I tell Nooma before I go how I feel ? Remember Cute Li'l Art Girl ? Hmmmm.

...crunch time for sorting things out with The Fucknut. For those who don't know, or need reminding, The Fucknut is a housemate who isn't paying his way. I have asked him to move out, and he is doing so this weekend. The trouble is, he now owes me almost half a grand, and I am not wealthy enough to let this slide.

He has acknowledged in a previous discussion that he does owe me the money, and is obligated to pay. But I have a very strong feeling that - despite today being his pay day - he won't. If this is indeed the case, I had anticipated taking him to small claims.

He has packed all of his stuff, and is at work at the moment. Nooma just called round for a cup of tea. She offered to help me move his stuff into her house, so that he didn't know where it was, and could only have it back when he paid me the money. I told her that if I wanted to ensure that I stayed on the good side of the county court - if it came to that - then I probably shouldn't employ guerrilla tactics. "But it would be a lot more fun," she said. This is true. I am very tempted.

What would you do ? Would you maintain an entirely reasonable approach, or would you wage war and hold his possessions to ransom ?

To add insult to injury, I went into his room to reclaim my 'Omen' DVD, and it has been packed away with the rest of his stuff. I don't have a lot of hate in me - but I fucking HATE him. He is a CUNT.

So... Wot would you do ?