From the back of my phone memory

I feel like I've made a terrible error of judgment in my actions, and I can't stop rewinding to the moment I set myself up for it. 

You know when you make a conscious decision, riding on a gut feeling, that something is more trouble than it's worth? I never used to shy away from those decisions and I always used to follow heart over head. I think that's the main difference between how I am now, and how I was 18 months ago. I've clouded my world in cynicism and for anybody to get close to me intimately, it's just not reasonable to expect them to go to the lengths that they'd need to.

I know I've made the right decision. But for who? I wish I could regain that feeling of caring without fear, but I feel like it got snuffed out on an Iowan highway last summer. Still it shocks me to think just how suddenly the knives were sharpened. 

It wasn't the clouds this time, only the fields. You build yourself up inside and hope that things become simple, but just like they refused last April, I could make no sense of them here either. So you look out the window and watch the same optimism of hours before disappear with the rest of the day. I'm hurting inside that I didn't take that chance.

You struggle to not remember the past but it's often the one constant that shapes you. I don't care for the fact that a relationship failed, but the hideous changes that it brought about in people I thought I knew was enough, clearly, to keep my future interests on hold. So we go round and round in circles, suggesting the same sweet nothings and leaving the same desires unanswered.

I'm annoyed with myself for letting cruel character breakdowns undermine me, but why hurt anybody else when you're still living in spite? I'm so full of fake promises and I know how badly they deceive. I didn't want to make another. Hurt someone once and you can say sorry, hurt them again and you should have known better.

I hope some of this makes sense. I'm heading to Amsterdam soon, and as strange as it sounds, I may just come back seeing things a little more clearly.

Bloke from kfc, rolf harris. Bane of chickens extraordineur

A genetically degrading monstrosity, blog forgotten how to kiss

Moveme.com

Bad fall, sincere. Calamity fall, not so much.

Girls and what works, do with them, not to them. Easy pointer

5 yrs to live, ill go in 4

tourist gives camera, you snap self

I love you too template.

iphone- a phone and an ipod wtf

Put on 30lbs and forgotten gow to hiptoss but come saturday night, ill remember how to rock

Pogues

Us londones have a reputation for not wanting to talk, but are we the ones to blame? 

Engineering works but never improvement in the service

I would rather snooze and be petted in her lap than endure another convo.

Signing a breast, 'eet was the nice tit ja? Dynamo say 8/10

Unglam life web designer. Monitor muffin

just want to talk, not whau

primark empty or full, smart man socks, cassiobury park at night

Xmas lights, back of bike

du og meg. you're my favourite living human of all

if can happdn to md, your asses better believe

London love letter. Go londonpaper websitd. Lovestruck. ha.

500,000 fans queuing

hair looks a bit full of roses.Intruder in the threesome

Smile at strangers. Watch reaction.

met line, fucked on fri 21

google Gok wan.

well if you double it three times and switch on the reverse i suppose you've got a start. But its gonna take longer than that to get to where i want to be

Ive been putting in a little effort. youdouble it three times, let me do the rest tiny

1 mil Facebook group want smoking ban lifted. hey Dude. 59 mil ppl still say no. jog on

live a little closer you'd be all i ever saw

How many love of my lifes can you get away with before it starts to get OOOLD

the olympics,spear throwing contest, lots of little chinese men

never letting hair down, mistake by dawn

Actually scratch that, Junction at 8?

Oh won't you take me home tonight?

I sat down to write a serious blog five minutes ago, but with 500 Miles by The Proclaimers ringing in my ears on repeat, I'm finding it quite challenging to connect with my inner emo. Forgive me if this sounds a little insensitive - but it's changed to Fat Bottomed Girls so deal with it.

You made a fat boy out of me! How did he get away with this?

Anyway, the Olympics. Who gives a shit? 

The most amusement I've had out of these games came from picking up the Metro on my way to work, only to read that the beautiful singing performance at the opening ceremony was actually performed by another ugly looking Chinese girl - not the lip synching yet perfectly toothed seven year old that Beijing would have you believe. 

That's quite a diss when you think about it.

The poor girl's going to grow up with the bursting pride of having sung at the Olympics, yet she'll never be recognized for it because she was a hideous child and wasn't allowed on television. It almost touches my black heart.

Don't get me wrong. I think China's done a commendable job of getting the games up and running and you can tell just how enthusiastic the Chinese people are for it. It also worries me slightly that London is expected to follow in the footsteps of that opening ceremony.

How do you top a gymnast air-running the perimeter of a stadium roof to light a spectacular flame in front of 4 billion or whatever ridiculous number it was that tuned in?

I don't know. But we'll probably end up with Wayne Rooney swinging from a tree to light it when the Olympics comes to London. That's assuming the saga doesn't drag on like Wembley and we actually have an Olympic village for these world class athletes to reside in.

The thought of sport's finest slumming it up in East London after dark sends a shiver down the spine, don't you think? We'd have to adjust schedules to cater for the Hop, Skip and Duck The Fucking Knife. God knows what they'll find in the sand pit. Stashes of drugs, burnt out car parts and shards of Stella bottles, I'd imagine.

I'm not really pessimistic about London having the games. I think it'll be good for tourism, great for redevelopment and we might even get a few medals out of it. You know, like Rachel Whatever Her Name Is who won that cycling thing on Monday? That was totally worth the £9 billion that it'll cost us to stage 2 weeks of glorified interracial school Sports Days.

On that note, Field Day was good fun. Unfortunately, I didn't come dressed or prepared for the occasion. What should have been a day of lounging in the sun, sipping on overpriced cans of Red Stripe while listening to the croons of Noah and the Whale - err - actually turned in to a soggy, cold squib of an affair. I'm usually well up for a festival monsoon. It's what sorts the men from the boys, especially when the men have come kitted out in nothing but Brokeback mountain shirts and stoic determination to see it through to the bitter end.

Yes, I have given the Texan shirt another outing. Unfortunately, I've also acquired a slightly disturbing nickname; Brokeback Martin. 

I wouldn't mind, but I've only just broken up with my girlfriend and being single makes gender bending all the more difficult to master without coming across as a massive gay. 

That's what ruined Field Day for me. Breaking up is never easy to do. But it's even harder when you've scheduled it in advance and both know that you're embarking on the last day you'll share together. For all of the promises to "leave something happy to remember each other by", I walked home feeling pretty dejected and upset.

I know that it was the right thing to do, and I'm glad that neither of us held any bitter feelings or resentment. We shared five nice months but I'm not in a good place right now and something had to give.

Last time I split up with a girlfriend, it marked the start of a six month rampage where I shagged every girl that so much as pointed her drink in my direction. I'm not sure if I want to go back to that, but some time to myself will hopefully prove a good healer.

Field Day wasn't a total washout. I got to meet up with a couple of familiar faces who I've known for a while, although I feel a bit bad that my departure in to the singledom abyss had to coincide. I haven't been myself in so long that it's hard to snap out of the doldrums and show what people expect of me. I'm still struggling to find my comfort zone at work and I'm restless at home.

The biggest bright spot of my weekend was getting to see of Montreal live again. The sound quality was shocking (almost as shocking as the toilet setup - being cat-called by a gaggle of girls who'd invaded the gents' was slightly odd). But if there's one band that can put a smile on my face no matter what, it's of Montreal. I don't know what it is about Kevin Barnes, but the man has an incredible knack for a melody.

They're playing Koko in October so if you're from London and enjoy busting tropical spandex shapes, be there. Not square.

I'm off to brood over the fact that I have to be at work inexplicably early for a meeting tomorrow.