I Think, Therefore I'm Single

I am a bad person. Ok, maybe not bad, but certainly not good: I broke my laptop. And that's just one, on a very long list of reasons, why I'm on the guest list for Hell (In the name of the Father...). Actually, it was a combination of factors (human and not so) that caused the breakdown, but if we're pointing fingers (which Daddy is), I did it. And I now have a broken laptop. Rest assured, this will go down in family history, along with the time Claudia fell straight through the pool cover and I stuck my tongue out on stage during a ballet production, aged seven, because I thought I was a Spice Girl (unfortunately, I was playing a moth). I also judge pregnant teenage girls, open my sister's post and, try as I occasionally might, I cannot keep secrets.

So, as my laptop was being restored to 'factory fresh', I couldn't help but have a good old reflect on materialism. What do I really need a laptop for, after all? When... all you need is love? But sitting down with my cup of tea to think about it, I crushed my glasses and materialism came bounding back. So while I may not be able to see (today's excuse for poor spelling and grammar - and I have an even better one lined up for tomorrow, so sit tight), I've got love? No, not buying that, because, while I may not be able to see, whoever gets roped into fixing my poor machine will unlikely miss the stack of vulgar links Claire Mitchell has been sending me via Skype (eg. cakefarts - google at your own peril). Yes, I've outed you. HA. (My shoutout - I'm so Youtube - today, also goes to Claire, to wish her LOADS of luck for her exams! xxx)

And then love also got me in trouble yesterday (which is why I'd rather see and have things): I was practising loving my neighbour, when it occurred to me that I had picked the wrong neighbour to practise loving, confusing number 4 for number 6. "It's OK, I can't remember your name either", she amazingly threw over the fence. Shit.

According to J. A. Lee (who wrote a couple of books about Psychology and was tragically American), there are six types of love, which got me wondering how large and mind-boggling a number of types of liking there must be. I turned back to the US and Ten Things I Hate About You for guidance:

Bianca: There's a difference between like and love. Because I like my Skechers, but I love my Prada backback.

Chastity: But I love my Skechers.

Bianca: That's because you don't have a Prada backpack.

Oh, I see now!

Pretty much on the same note (or a completely different one if you're familiar with Harmer's thesis on Mercury's Lost Lover, which details lots of really really irrelevant things), I've been on a series of truly bizarre dates in the past year: I probably wore the same thing to every one, acted as inappropriately as possible and then began yawning around 9pm. These were my tactics until about two weeks ago, when I met a Jonny who actually left before then. In fact, he also left before 8pm and 7.30 and we might have only been together for 25 minutes at the very most seeing as he'd been late - and I'd been even later. The problem? He'd asked me about myself and while I'd tried to divert, answering questions with questions, one thing led to another and, very quickly, he knew I was an ex-nannying Catholic who could do the splits but not quite make herself understood in French. It was my own fault. And I'd only been drinking orange juice.

Does it make me greedy to want them all at once? An erotic, ludic, storgic, pragmatic, manic, agapic love? I didn't think it existed until I began my Powerplate Challenge (http://www.powerplate.com/), which I did just before I had flu last month. It involves three 25-minute workouts a week, for five weeks. And its hard. You have to work at it, but the benefits are certainly there to be reaped: it makes me feel great; its easily my favourite sport; its practical; and while I wasn't quite sure at first, I quickly became obsessed. It's completely selfless and frankly, I couldn't have been more satisfied. Better still, it has a very low and irresistably sexy growl. I don't really know why I've been so convinced relationships had to be limited to boys. The real challenge, however? See if you can keep a straight face for a whole minute, sitting on fifty vibrations a second.

Listening to: Kate Rusby (www.myspace.com/katerusby)

Watching: communitychannel on Youtube

Seriously endorsing: Powerplates