I was browsing the internet, trying to find out if the Antipodean Hunk is married or with someone, given I’ve just found out that although I’ve been watching him most of the summer on Married At First Sight (he’s the photographer, not the groom!) and freeze-framing his hand (v hairy, nice manicure) to see if he is wearing a ring, it turns out we are currently viewing a series that is two years old. I sadly was scanning the credits just to see his name in lights, and noticed it said 2018. Noooooo! No wonder no one was wearing a mask! Anything could have happened in two years! And then, by accident, trying to find out more, I pulled up an online forum in which people had found out his name (not difficult… Nigel), and were wondering if he really does look like Liam Neeson (he does).
I texted Nic. ‘Oh no! Everyone knows who he is, and I bet he has found out he is in my column* now!’
‘No,’ she said wisely. ‘It will only be people gossiping online. He wouldn’t have time to read that crap. He’s a grown-up with a career. He’s not David.’
Anyway, I carried on browsing, and accidentally came across a photo of David on Digital Spy (as you do) that I’ve never seen before. He has a beard, long hair, is by a (frankly filthy) Aga, wearing tracky bottoms, which I have banned as one of my list of things he has to Never Do Again if he wants me back, and is smoking. Crucially, he looks happy. His eyes are twinkling. When we first re-met, he showed me photos of him at parties, as best man at weddings, on a boat in Ibiza wearing an eye patch, like a pirate. He always looks happy. I think I have made him unhappy.
But the thing is, I am just not a party person. I never let myself go. Even during sex, I am worrying about the bed linen, upsetting Gracie (always on my spare pillow), missing Newsnight. David has never even heard of Emily Maitlis. We are just too different. He doesn’t even care he has ruined his health, as ‘I had a really good time’. I’ve never had a good time. I can honestly say that, hand on heart.
I’m trying to live in the moment, which I’ve been assured by many expensive therapists is the key to contentment. But my thoughts spiral. I remember visiting some temple in India and a small boy came up to me and said, ‘You think too much. You worry too much.’ I do. Current worries**:
- That Nigel has got wind of my column and is really cross. This reminds me of a huge interview my then husband did with a broadsheet to promote his novel. The interviewer called Hermione***asked him if my column made him feel ‘Cross? Cross inside?’ He nodded. But the headline in 94 point the next morning read: ‘Liz Jones makes me feel cross, cross inside.’ He complained I made him look like a toddler. Why blame me? He shouldn’t have nodded!
- That my rescue pony Benji will get colic again. I’ve asked Nic to install cameras.
- Is my sister in Sydney OK? I’ve not heard anything for a year. I could use her as an excuse to visit Nige. He will see me as compassionate, not someone desperate for sex.
- Is my avocado ripe? If only it would give me a sign.
- There’s something weird under my car and scraping on the road and making sparks as I go along. I’ve chosen to ignore it.
- Mini Puppy is off her food. She will now only eat human food. I’m beginning to think my collies train me, not the other way around.
- The past ten years have been too much for me. Just when I start to get my head above water, and have hope, a great big hand reaches down and shoves me beneath the icy waves again.
- I’m off my food from the stress of the uncertainty.
- I’m too worried to tell you what happened, but might have the courage next week.
- There is something else – I’ve just forgotten what it is I’m supposed to be worrying about.
*And in my heart.
**Sorry it’s a list.
***Aren’t they always?