It always sounds better when it goes unexplained.

I've been thinking.

As I tend to do on rare occasions.

What exactly is the job of a Shadow Chancellor? Because, to the best that I can tell, he seems to be the guy who organizes a budget for the opposition party. But based on what?

"That's brilliant, George."

"Now all we need is some power."

Who couldn't do that? I draw up imaginary spending plans for a million imaginary pounds all the time! Give me a fake economy to balance and too right I'll be sniggering when yours goes belly-up.

Am I the only one who simply couldn't care less that the Olympics are coming to his hometown? Honestly, I see no grand occasion. It's second rate sporting entertainment. Pole vault? Bowls? A little bit of archery? Not worth the tax quite frankly. And as a working Londoner, inevitably I'll be forced to pay through my nose for it.

I suppose it's the sort of event that would be good to take your kids to. But in 2012, I'll be lucky to have a serious relationship let alone sprogs of my own. It's a downward spiral from your 20th birthday. And an expensive one to boot.

I had my details taken by the police on Bonfire Night. Having ventured up Harrow Hill to enjoy the Fireworks wash-out, an officer informed us that drinking is banned publically in Harrow. As is gay sex in the graveyard. Not that I dabbled in the latter but clearly somebody has if they patrol it so rigorously.

I've been having rather depressing relapses of the year gone by. It's funny how nine months on, I still haven't found a way to mourn or say a proper goodbye or even to allow myself to remember. My mum left a teddy on my pillow. The same one that I gave to my nan a few months before she died. Nice gesture and all, but it stirred my memory in a way that wasn't very comfortable for my guilty conscience.

It's something I've been fighting with a vengeance. Using every night where somebody's willing to spend time with me as a method of stamping it out - by escaping the four walls and denying myself time to think. Thinking too much gets me nowhere. I've been out on the lash six nights running, and I know it's not just to socialise.

I don't want Christmas to come. Two empty chairs around the table and a large part of my upbringing missing. Not to mention the regret of decimating a relationship - as much as it had to happen - and feeling so hopeless with the chase that loose sex is the only light on the horizon.

It's not that I have regrets for being single. But I miss being able to spill the occasional outburst of hurt and pain. The kind that just wouldn't wash with friends. Even this blog is a massive contradiction of everything that goes through my mind. If you can't be honest with yourself, what the hell are you doing?

I've given up trying to muster a relationship out of a friendship. It's too much fantasizing on my part, and as much as I adore the girl, I'd rather not become one of her mistakes. If I had the slightest idea how her mind worked, maybe it'd be different. But I don't and I'm starting to feel just a little bit stupid for losing my grip on reality and the things that she says - or doesn't.

Nothing has to change. I'm just trying to accept that sooner or later, a more eligible guy is going to see what I already see, and hopefully make her happy. I'm not entirely sure that this isn't already the case.

Maybe that's why I'm spending an increasing ammount of time in cloud cuckoo land. Barely listening to my mates, and scouring bars for a girl to go gooey eyed over in the same way that I do for her. If anything worthwhile comes from this madness, at least I know what I'm looking for.

At the same time, only a total moron judges a girl by what he likes in another.

I think the haircut has gone to my head.