When you’re a person who has borderline obsessive compulsive tendencies, a delinquent carpet can cause such a degree of distress that selling up and moving on seems a sensible solution. No matter what I do to my carpet, no matter which way I vacuum it, there is nothing I can do to correct the pile so that the shading is uniform. It’s all down to my patterns of movement throughout the house of course: I habitually walk a certain route; I generally sit in the same seat and this forces the pile into a particular direction. When I look at it, particularly from my toilet, it looks dreadful – to me at least.

I’m considering wearing some comb-like attachments on my slippers so that I can spend one day a week walking around the house, correcting my carpet.

Life is too short, people will say as they mock my strange obsession, but it pisses me off.

Something else that’s pissing me off is the intrusive “autosaving” notification at the foot of this post as I compose it. Just piss off!

A month of parties
I’m wiped out. February has been fun on the socialising front, but I find six months’ worth of socialising in three weekends utterly exhausting. I was sober for two of the parties I attended, but the whole “dealing with my party anxiety” is too much for somebody like me to bear.

Did I enjoy the events I attended? Absolutely, thoroughly, without any doubt.

So why am I whinging? I have no idea.

It’s lovely to be invited, I’m glad I went.

So why am I whinging? Because it threw my routine out for the entire month!

Last night’s was hugely entertaining. It was a celebration of the fortieth birthday of a colleague, “fancy dress”, he’d told us all.

I drove the however many miles it was to St Helens dressed as a nun and as I parked up at the venue, I had a look around. Everybody seemed to be in regular clothes. I’d wondered whether the birthday boy had been having us on and even considered taking some beige knitwear with me just in case, but my fears were allayed when a few pirates and a couple of red indians turned up.

It might take some public humiliation to bring out an hidden talent that had laid undiscovered: Tina turns up to a party dressed as a nun; nobody else in fancy dress; everyone points and laughs at Tina; Tina enters a catatonic state and suddenly people’s eyes start bleeding and everything bursts into flames. Alas, that didn’t happen on this occasion and the only thing that was at risk of bursting into flames was my highly flammable outfit.

Maybe for my fiftieth, I’ll have a “Carrie” themed do.

I hate Salford Council
Salford Council seems to be at war with the motorist. They are obsessed with introducing ridiculous and unnecessary road calming schemes that add further delays to poor bastards who just want to get through the shithole as quickly as possible. The latest is a reduction in the speed limit of the A6/A580 into and out of Manchester from 50 to 40mph. No warning, they just reduced the limit. Cocks.

I’m sure this bunch of jerks won’t be happy until every vehicle driving through the place has a maximum speed of 5mph and is accompanied by somebody waving a red flag. I supposed they’d call it a job creation scheme and get some money from Europe for it. COCKS!

And the little dog snoozes soundly as I bash the keys with ire.

Pillow talk
Spending a few hours in bed on a Sunday morning, armed with an iPad, some cups of coffee, and a cuddly dog is quite delightful, but I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m bored to tears of it. I miss being in a relationship. I miss that whole thing of waking up and having somebody there to talk to, have a bit of sexy fun with, drink coffee in bed with and plan stuff with. Today, I’d been awake for an hour or so, done the new, done Facebook and Twitter and Flipboard and coffee, and I was lost for something to do for the day.

Perhaps I should be more proactive and exchange my routine to include a trip into the city (via Salford), maybe see what friends are up to, but I guess what I’m saying is that it’s quite nice doing nothing when you’re doing nothing with somebody special.

Take for example my weekly nemesis: folding the bedding. This is an impossible task for a single person and it’s things like this that spark my desire to be part of a we again. Not that I want a housewife to do my chores for me, I just miss having somebody to act the goat with while I’m doing them.

Of course what I should do is use this as an opportunity to be innovative and come up with a device that’s designed with that task in mind. I’m thinking of a blow up doll with Jessica Ennis’s face that has two pegs on its hands for holding on to one end of the fitted sheet while I sort out the other end. And once the bedding is folded, well, Blow up Jess won’t be any good for making me a cup of coffee or helping me prepare lunch, so I could take her around town and buy her a burrito. I’m sure this would draw attention and provide a starting point for conversations with strangers who, when they learn the backstory, will think I’m the most amazing person they’ve ever met and want to be with me forever!

I am a genius. Collect £100 and go to Mayfair.