This is getting really embarrassing

Posted by Lucy Robinson at 16:28 on 22 Dec 2009

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It's been a fairly normal week of pre-Christmas socialising - trips to A&E; illegal raves and an afternoon drinking whiskey on Santa's knee.

Standard stuff, all things considered.

And so, because we're talking about standard behaviour, I thought I should probably mention that, erm, I am in internet love again.

Oh for the love of JEHOVA, you shout, throwing your computer across the room. Give it a bloody rest, you mentalist!

Allow me interrupt you right now to tell you that I agree entirely. How can I have fallen for yet another man I've never even spoken to? It's pathetic! Get a grip, Robinson!

But... well... (she says, wringing her hands, trying to justify the unjustifiable) this guy is sending me the most mind-blowing emails and I think I would like to marry him please. I'm totally and utterly hooked. Oh, pah, you say. How the hell can an email be 'mindblowing,' you insufferable fool?

Actually, I'm going to stop second guessing what you're saying. As discussed, I already agree with you, so let's leave it there. Instead I am going to focus on the matter in hand, which is my wildly beating heart.

So, the man is called Jake. He is 34 years of age, he lives near me and he is a journo. This is becoming a habit, the journo thing. Looks-wise he is what I have come to recognise as my type: dirty blonde and good-looking in a rather baby-faced way. (It has taken me many years to admit that this is my type. For a very long time I stated that I was interested only in tall dark and handsome men. But as time has passed I've realised that this is absolute baloney. I can't even remember the last time I kissed a TD&H man! [Actually, I can't remember the last time I kissed any man but never mind.])

Jake's emails read like they're randomly selected paragraphs from a book which currently exists in my head, entitled "Everything I've ever wanted to hear my future husband say." They make me laugh, they make me blush, they make me nod my head in furious agreement. They bombed through pedestrian smalltalk at great speed and are now knocking about in a far more exciting territory full of earthquakes and explosions. Today we have had a furious argument, an exchange in poor French, a mutual we-love-dogs-more-than-humans conversation and also quite a rude discussion involving jaffa cakes (you had to be there....oops, no, you didn't,  because I wasn't there either, I was just sitting at a computer talking to a total stranger...OH GOD... it's bloody ridiculous! What am I doing?)

He's got me into such a pickle that I'm not doing any work at all. Currently I spend 80% of my day writing to him and 20% re-reading his messages. Every few days or so I manage to squeeze in five minutes of work but it's poor-quality. My P45 should arrive any day now.

Jake and I have agreed, reluctantly, that it's time to set a date because this has been going on long enough (a week). But to be honest I think that both of us are a little afraid of meeting and it being terrible. The disappointment would be crushing! Such is the nature of internet dating. Such towering hope; such stinking disappointment.

I'll keep you posted.

PS the rave wasn't illegal; I said that to sound cool.

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