And that was that. Where had I gone wrong? First night: park, fag, snog. Second night: ditto. Third night: ditto. Buckle Up Butter Cup You Just Flipped My Witch Shirt Fourth night: chucked. OK, OK. Maybe I should have seen the signs. Maybe I was asking for it. Round about that second ditto I should have spotted that we were in a rut, that I had allowed things to fester to the extent that she was on the lookout for someone else. But she could have tried to tell me! She could at least have given me another couple of days to put things right!