millionreasons | Called you last night from Sheffield

The boyfster is presently out and about on a world tour of Nottingham, Sheffield, Manchester and Kilburn playing the melodica (and keyboard) in Airport Girl (that's him with the moustache) and it's grrrreat. I can eat what and when I want, sleep when I wanna, hog the duvet and sleep in the middle of the bed, watch what I want to without the noise of Battlestar Galactica or some stupid house buying programme, listen to jazz without negative opinions. I'm not interrupted by giggles as he reads the Register or listens to the Pipettes. The milk lasts thrice as long, there are no clothes on the floor and I can leave the washing up for days on end.

But....I have videoed all of the Coronation Streets because I don't want to watch them without giving a running commentary to him. I miss emailing him throughout the working day. At home, I have to turn off the central heating myself and get my own glass of water. There's no-one to hide chocolate from me or try to make me eat leeks. I can tell people about what our neighbours, the Play-Nicelys, the Stella-Cornflakes and Stompy McStomper, have been up to, but they're not really going to care.

We have had problems with a greedy mouse and to stop it leaving the chimney stack where it lives and invading the living room, the boyf used the weights from his dumbbells to ballast the sheet that I tacked around the fireplace. On top of the weights, he's placed a tea-light holder, a photo frame and my Italian glass dish. Only David would think of prettying up a rodent snare. He rings me before each soundcheck, like he's a member of Abba.