So the weekend starting in a promising fashion. Friday night I slobbed out and did nothing. Always the best way when you have a big weekend planned.

Saturday afternoon was also another good one. A victory for the Imps. 2-1 over local rivals Notts County, with goals from Franny Green and Jamie McCombe seeing us rise to seventh and the last playoff place in league 2.

And then at 7:30 Burnley Boy called. I had been expecting him at 8 and was about to start cooking. He'd messed up his times with the rugby and was leaving now. Okay, but you knew that 80 minutes ago, so couldn't you have texted then? Slightly peeved, but forgivable.

So now I can't really talk about Sunday right now. I don't think I understand what really happened. What seemed to start out as a worry he voiced about what would happen, with us living so far apart, in six months time, ended up with us both in tears and him walking out on me. Don't ask me to remember anything, I can't, I was in some kind of hysteria.

And so the big romance with Burnley Boy, the one I really thought could be "the one" is over.

I didn't sleep last night, I can't see things properly through the tears in my eyes this morning and so we are back to sqaure one blogging friends.

I started this blog when I dipped my toe back into the water of dating after all the ways men had managed to destroy my faith in love over the last five years. I wanted to be reassured that it wasn't me, that I didn't have some sort of tattoo on my head saying hurt me. I didn't find that reassurance. I hurt so much again, like the last time and the time before that. I will not feel this hurt again. I've found the answer, I didn't like it, but I've found it.

And I have learnt that when someone tells you they love you, it probably isn't true, but it is easier to lie than face facts. I have also learnt that I shouldn't let myself fall in love, I have proven now conclusively that it guarantees hurt.