Eight words. Five more than the usual three, six more if you say it in Polish. But the effect is just as... [I've been drinking] effective.

Under the commands of the hottest, smartest, funniest (and the list goes on) girl to have ever walked the Earth: I appear to be writing this blog again.

But what the hell do I write about? If I try to write anything too impersonal I'm discounting the last two and a half months of my life. If I don't, I whore my private life out to the internet and an inaccountable (and probably small) amount of people. Time to follow the trends of contemporary culture, write about my life as it's the most important thing going on in the world today [see The Sun and Jade Goody]. Let's be a media whore.

Since my last post I've had approximately one more month in the company of my fine lady. All good reason for not writing (on here in any case) in my book. It's quite a time consuming business entertaining someone you can't take your eyes off. Writing a blog would be quite tricky too with an averted gaze. As for the last five days in which she's gone, I don't think I could manage to write anything substantial without a 'boo hoo she's gone' kind of context.

I say that, but essentially, I am still as pissed off that she (you, my only reader) has/have gone. For two months I felt alive. There were reasons to wake up in the morning, to go to work, to go busking, to eat, to do the washing up and of course to go to bed. The strange thing is, although I'm alone in England again, the reasons are still there.

They are not as immediate. They do not come into my store when I'm in the darkest of bad moods and cheer me up, they do not make me laugh by making stupid sounds and pulling silly faces, and all the things that an uptight, unpaid writer can write about, but won't, because that would be too easy... It's pretty simple: I'm completely in love.

So yis. I now have plans (of some sort) as to what to do with myself. Following the directions I've taken from getting a degree in the old journalism business I'm going to go to London to whore myself out (read: intern). After that I am going to go to Poland to be reunited with my lover. Then who knows. I don't. And that's how I like things. If I can manage to find work over there and adjust to a foreign way of life, fucking way to go. If not, I'll try and make a go of it in London. Has anyone ever heard of someone with one of them going nowhere in life [sic]?

But even if I wind up in a worse supermarket job, with two power crazed middle aged old women treating me like their manslave. I'll still be happy and have something to live for, I'm in love.