This is not an April Fools joke.

"What's black, blue and busy in the kitchen?"

"The wife, if she knows what's good for her."

Oh, what it does to spend too much time in the Middlesex Arms.

Weeks have passed, clocks have gone forward and still England rains. Jokes have been told, pints have been downed and corners of the nation have been christened in my name. I'm still in employment, Hell has frozen over and through shock, horror or surprise - I'm fond of a girl who likes me too!

It's been a while since I've committed my thoughts to a blog. Well, it's been a while since I used the word commit at all. But these last few weeks have seen some uncharacteristic developments in my life. I'm no longer single, for one. Don't worry, I'm not going softcore. The slippers and pipe are safely locked away, but it's fair to say that I'm a happy bunny right now.

I've known the girl in question through a friend for a while now, though we didn't meet in person until three weeks ago. She's lovely and gets me smiling when I'm in need of a chirp. I didn't think it was possible to fall for a Harrow girl. No offense, Harrow girls. But if you've seen the St Anns' Primark on a Saturday morning, you know what the hell I'm talking about.

I must've spent ten minutes staring at her while she chick-flicked out to a Hollyoaks omnibus on Channel 4. Normally, I'd be summoning my best diplomatic persuasion and contesting the TV remote. But as she reeled off the entire tragic story of broken down soap romances, incestuous relations and high school cattiness...I don't think I listened to a single word. That's probably when I know that I like someone.

I've kinda accepted that girls will be girls. She'll like her god awful sitcoms, engage in her outrageous gossip, and won't hesitate to drag me around shopping for hours on end. But for me to still adore her and miss her by the time the train's taken me home - that's something I'm thankfully still soppy enough to appreciate.

It only takes one read of this blog to work out just how far off the rails I'd fallen since my relationship breakdown last year. Man slapper, would be a polite term for what I was becoming. A mess would be another.

I've learnt that people will always form their own misconceptions when the image you portray is...a betrayal in itself. And I hate the thought - well, the knowledge - that I've hurt people in the time that it's taken to get myself back on track. I'm sorry to those who feel somehow lead-on by my scattergram behavior.

I hope that I've always been genuine and frank with my feelings. A liar is the last thing I'd want to be known as. It's hard not to feel a little guilty for trampling over friendships to pursue a relationship, but hopefully people will understand that I'm happy and that I haven't been for a while.

I spent Sunday stalking Camden to help her find a dress. I say help, what I really mean there is "hold her bloody coat and let her loose on the racks upon racks of clothes and accessories while keeping a safe distance". There is no such thing as helping a woman to shop - not beyond carrying her newly snapped up purchases and keeping a straight face at the girly dilemmas. Right little trophy lover, I am.

Camden Market is a stodgy old place. I have to admit to completely underestimating the number of dodgy shirts to be found there. I've always associated Camden with scene kids, or those trying too hard. I suppose I still do, really. But any market selling 50's era psychedelic hip-shirts deserves a second chance. I'll be back on my own this weekend to do some serious wardrobe stocking.

Well hey, it is the new season.

On the subject of clothes shopping, I also have to muster a suitably extravagant outfit before Friday for a birthday party. That in itself could be quite tricky with my 9-5 working hours and Farringdon being what it is; a yuppy's haven about as out there as the Burton knitwear range.

I'm in a bit of a situation really. Most of my catastrophic garments are provided at a discount price from the illegal Hong Kong trade. I say that with little to no exaggeration. One of them was delivered with a tyre mark staining the package - presumably where it fell off the back of a lorry.

So with three days to go and East Asian shipping out of the equation, the window of opportunity for a shocking spandex cat suit may have finally been opened. It is, after all, my lifetime ambition to put Kevin Barnes to shame.

And yes, I know. You can treat my fashion sense with misinformed disapproval, but at the end of the day...I'm funding a third world economy.

What've you done for charity, lately?

PS. If you like reading this blog, please do a playa a favour and head on over to the UK Kliq Forums where more of my drivel can be found, amongst the drivel of many others. Registration is free. Showing your love and doing so is priceless. God bless your mothers.