Chewing my meat slowly.

It's weird, the difference between the things you savour and those you want all at once.

You eat one birthday chocolate a night and tiny teaspoons of creme brulee. A great novel however, you squeeze the pages into spare seconds, nearly knocking into lamposts as you believe you can multi-task. And another box of chocolates will taste as good but reading a book for the second time just isn't the same.

Maybe there is such thing as a time limit on relationships. In order to make them last longer, you have savour it. Perhaps a relationship that is set to last two years could last five. But you have to have less of each other. Is that where the public are going wrong, because when romance is present, they use up all their time too quickly? Is our problem that we don't savour those we love but instead squeeze?

Strangely enough, early summer seems to be break up period. Maybe it's the topless frolicking that makes you realise your partner really has put weight on, or the extra flow of beers in the afternoon causing disagreements on the sausages. For some, it's a shame the squeeze came before the best season.

Salmon and stereotypes.

Realising you are never going to be something doesn't usually happen. You take gradual steps to becoming something else so it starts to appear obvious that you're not going to live your life as say, a forensic scientist or an astronaut. Tonight however, whilst serving dessert wine to a table of Oxfordian graduates, I realised I will never be in the high brow of society. Tattoo creeping out of cuff and stain on boob, I scoffed to myself at their exam-related banter. "And so I told him, if you're going to plagiarise next time don't use your own professor's articles!"- violent chortling ensued.

I've never met a more electic mix of people, the staff I mean. A teeny Japanese woman who kept flapping and cursing at the others (who said stereotypes weren't fair?!), some gothic pregnant chick and a Polish bodybuilder called Bart. I realised I was happier to be speaking those paid an hourly rate at our dirty kitchen sink than perching with the lawyers in the room opposite.

My favourite past-time.

It's lucky, because wasting money seems to be my favourite past-time. And I don't mean spending, I mean literally throwing away, might as well have wiped my arse with it type of wasting. Right now Michael O'Leary, CEO of Ryanair is carefully folding my fivers for soiling. To preach in an interview about the bareness of your schedule, then realise you're pretty much booked up every weekend of the summer doesn't help cover the unecessary droughts in your Lloyds TSB.

From faking car-breakdowns on the M1 and covering Alton Towers with dental appointments only to avoid three hour shifts, sometimes I wonder whether I actually get a kick out of being in debt. Lloyds text me every week now with my balance. You think they might throw something else in, maybe financial advice 'BALANCE OD 994...We need to use your money so please stop wasting all of ours' or 'Is that £8 in HMV vital because you vaguelly remember this film being on about ten years ago?'(and then you get it home and realise that you thought it was only okay, hence Sunday afternoon, Channel 5) or 'Domino's again... Really?' Just a line, once a week- a reminder of priorities.

Who would need therapy if there was someone to text you every Monday, letting you know where you're going wrong?