Strait is the Gait.

I saw the Flat Mate yesterday morning. He was in the front room reading Andre Gide's Strait is the Gait, and crying. He pretended not to be, and then laughed saying he knew it was silly, it's just a story, but it caught him off guard. We laughed and it was normal between us again. He said. I had no room to laugh, as everytime we watch 'This Morning' I shed a few sentimental tears. It's true. Then he asked me what I was doing that day. His response was a sardonic "very romantic." A little ironic.

In theory it was, but it reality it really wasn't.

I was going on a bike ride with the Doctor.

To me a bike ride is a pleasant, moderate cycle down a few, flat country lanes, a pub lunch and then just enough to drink that you feel a bit tipsy but won't fall off your bike or cause a traffic accident. Failing this then the more Enid Blyton route of thick crusted sandwiches wrapped in brown paper and lashings of ginger beer.

This however was a "New Year/ New You" BIKE RIDE - Grr: a 15 mile, uphill battle of stamina between woman and the elements. It was unrelentlessly horrible, and I arrived home saddle sore, wind burnt, exhausted and in the doghouse, as apparently it is unacceptable 'cycling etiquette to say "Oh Fuck off,"- with your potentially dying gasp - when on the steepest ascent your partner is doing wheelies (and generally showboating) in circles around you, whilst shouting encouragement such as "you want to get rid of 'belly,' don't you?"

So that's my attempt at exercise for this year, as I am not sure I can cope with the happiness all those endorphins give me...

Is anything actually resolved in the New Year?

The answer of course is no. I am in the process of making promises to myself, but equally evading the myriad questions the past year has presented.

Hmm... I'll start by describing Christmas developments, or lack of. Having already found the really quite nice diamond ring (large rock, solitaire, princess cut), it was no surprise when it was presented on bended knee on Christmas Eve. My answer was pre-worded in my head and I recited it like a script. The main gist of it was "I'm still deciding what I want to do with my life and don't feel ready to commit to anyone or anything in that way." As I spoke, I thought how awful I am and how great he is. Like a rock: he's committed; faithful; solid; reliable and deserves somebody better than me. If it were the other way round and he was treating me this way, then he'd be criticised for having feet of clay, and judged in the kangaroo court of relationship rhetoric as a misogynist. He's not though, he's decent, respectful and perfect husband material.

To compound this, whilst I spoke, I was being treated to a drunken flashback of two nights previous, when I had, incredibly inebriated, declared my adoration to my flatmate. It didn't go well, as drunken declarations rarely do.

His response was, "I can't lie and say I've never thought about it; I have, but your bf is a good guy, and if I say anything it becomes something else. It'd be spoken and real, not abstract anymore: we'd have to do something about it. It'd be tough."

He then went into his room and played the guitar loudly and angrily. The nice evening we'd spent watching 'The Beat That My Heart Skipped' was tainted, marked by my outburst and confirmed by his philosophy student response. I haven't seen him since, and it's not a large house.

We went to our respective parents for Christmas day, the doctor started work again on the 27th and I returned to bring in the New Year, with Champagne and hypocrisy cocktails.

Maybe in 2007 I'll just be more resolute full stop, rather than being so concrete as making actual resolutions. I'll form an abstract for the year and hopefully develop it as I go along...