Mogwai goes to Canterbury

Hi bloggo.

Last night the Prince and I had a big row. It happened after you-know-what when stupidly I figured this might be the start of something new ... uncontrolled if you get the drift.

But it wasn't. He was as cautious as ever yelling "STOP" each time things got going.

As the post-coital tears soaked into my pillow, he said: "God, no wonder I never want to do it - you always get like this."

He'd much prefer to steal a wank each night in the bathroom with the door locked and porn on his mobile phone. For the sake of fairness he denies he does this, but please.

It's easier that way. No emotional scenes. No nasty moods.

He then lost the plot and started yelling, ranting and raving about how selfish I am for wanting wanting wanting all the time.

"I'm a great father, I'm a great boyfriend," he said. "I'm happy with the way things are. You're the one with the problem. You need to sort yourself out. When are you going to see your head lady again?"

Then after ranting some more about the fact he has to get up at 6.30am on Monday morning (big deal, it was Saturday night) he stormed downstairs to flat hunt, but not before telling me he would fight for custody of Rosie and win.

“And then you’ll be a single woman all by yourself,” he snarled. “Is that what you want?”

I garnered from this that he’d prefer to live alone in a two-bed flat with Rosie than here in our lovely home with Rosie AND her sister or brother. Why is it so hard for him to want one?

For almost three years since the longing began, he has just reeled out one stock answer: “I’m 31. I don’t want one now but MAYBE one day I will.”

The more I think about this the more I just lose my mojo to continue the battle.

I’ll be FORTY in May and I am totally dreading this. I want to be embracing it, feeling confident and happy with where I’m at and who I’m with.

Reality is, I’m with someone who’s only just coming to terms with the fact he’s 31.

I truly have to leave him – but why's it so hard? I feel this is the only pathway now for my future peace of mind and possible chance of feeling happy again. Staying with him is just always going to remind me of the wasted years I spent hoping and hoping.

Anyway, I woke up with puffy eye lids and slowly moved my foot away from his leg. Got up and let him sleep on.

Then we decided to go to Canterbury as planned and had a good trip. Nothing was talked about.

We visited the cathedral and meandered down the narrow streets of higgledy-piggledy buildings with overhanging windows.

"My legs ache," complained Rosie, walking a yard behind holding her tiny Mogwai that Santa bought her.

We went to a farmers’ market cum restaurant by the railway track. The food was superb. So it’s not all bad. At least we had a good lunch.

The custody thing is weighing hard on my mind and hurting my heart. If there was ever a chance I would lose Rosie I’d just have to stay with this commitmentphobe for another 12 years.
You know what I’m craving right now? Peace of mind, contentment and a less complicated way of living. I can live without money. I have done so many times in my life. He can’t.

My head lady said: “You know what image comes to mind when you talk about your relationship? Square peg, round hole.”

She’s right. And I’ll add another. Brick wall, head bang.