Isn’t it strange what shock does to you? You know, that out-of-body feeling you get where it seems that the world goes into a kind of slow motion and your mind is desperately trying to anchor itself to prevent you from going into free-fall? Kind of a survival instinct, I guess, denial. Anyway, that’s how I felt looking through her window - light-headed, slightly giddy. Of course, I was upset, but my mind didn’t seem fully able to cope with accepting what my eyes were showing it. In fact, though I was watching Garth, my boyfriend, and his ‘just good friend’ Becca cavorting naked on her living-room floor, my mind was trying to distract my emotions, somewhat desperately, by redirecting its attention to Becca’s rather fetching retro chocolate brown leather sofa. ‘Ooh, look at that!’ it was saying, ‘Exactly the shade you wanted those ankle boots in!’. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the reflection of undulating bare arses on the leather, bringing me back to the reality of the situation with a bang ( so to speak ), my entranced state would probably have lasted much longer, allowing a fuller appraisal of her shag-pad and its furnishings.

My emotions couldn’t be fooled forever, of course, and so followed hurt, then anger, then hurt once again. My tear-ducts were kicking-in, doing what it is that tear ducts do. My stomach was putting on some kind of hi-energy acrobatics display. Yep, I felt absolutely hellish, which I guess is understandable all things considered. But what to do next? What to do next? Never really having had voyeuristic tendencies, I didn’t want to carry on watching them ‘at it’, but none of my alternatives seemed particularly appealing either. I mean, I could have hammered on the window, confronted them, yelled at them, instigated some kind of slanging-match brimming with expletives - and in hindsight I guess part of me wishes I had; very cathartic and all that - but, well, to be honest I didn’t want to make a ‘scene’. I’m terribly English like that - were I continental I’m sure I would have been much more open to the dramatic potential of the circumstances, wowing the audience that was Wardley Street with my heartfelt cursing and OTT gesticulations. But I just didn’t fancy my hopeless love-life being the latest bit of Soap for the neighbourhood’s titillation - oh, the shame! On the other hand, what else could I do?

I’d never really thought of myself as a vindictive person, but I suppose the opportunity had never really fully presented itself before, the soil not been fertile enough for my evil side to flourish. As it turned out, I’m actually very accomplished at nastiness when the conditions are just so. I’m reasonably proud to inform you that I can be a total bitch if I put my mind to it! ’Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’ - too right! Whoever first uttered those wise wise words really knew their stuff - I’d put my money on it being some hapless philandering git of yesteryear while nursing a makeshift castration ( I daresay he had to repeat it after the event - that level of agony not being particularly conducive to clarity of speech ).

My Defence was pretty impressive, all things considered; the ‘not of sound mind’ card being played fairly heavily. Not that I’m too bothered - things could have so easily turned out far worse - I’ve seen enough episodes of Bad Girls to realise that I’m actually fantastically lucky. I have a nice enough room here which I share with a an absolute poppet called Ellie ( Quite mad. Self harms. Rants in Kling-on. But a real salt of the earth type other than that ), and they let me have visitors pretty much when I want. Of course, Garth doesn’t visit, though I do still think about him sometimes, wonder how he’s getting on. I hope he’s coping ok, getting on with life as best he can. I hear that prosthetics these days can do some quite marvellous things…