I suspect I am like most singletons of a “certain age” who have all been in and out of more relationships than we would have liked. 

Looking back to when I was a little girl I would see my parent’s seemingly rock-solid marriage and believe that was what life had in store for me too. A white wedding in my twenties to a man my father approved of, two children (a girl and a boy, naturally) and a job that took second place to my husband’s successful and blossoming career. 

We would holiday twice a year (once in Europe, and then further afield), live in a large detached house in a desirable English suburb and the biggest problem I encountered would be how I managed to fit in three visits to the health club every week.

It hardly seems necessary to state that life rarely gives you what you think you’re going to get.  I suspect in my case that my staunch refusal to accept the status quo and to constantly be seeking my version of fulfilment is what initiated a very different journey for me. 

Writing it all down (whatever “it” happened to be at the time ..) has always been therapeutic for me. My last blog tended to centre on my then relationship with a man that refused to yield to my charms. Well, he did yield as I recall … quite a lot actually …  just not as completely as I hoped.

He maintained we would have never worked out as we were entirely different, which was certainly true. In my fanciful little head I convinced myself that our differences didn’t matter; to think I could have believed Miss Incurable Romantic and Mr Distant Cynic would ever have been an item for longer than three minutes seems ridiculous now, but it kept me entertained and it fed my blog (which is still live at http://www.gettingbackontop.blogspot.com/ )

So, when it comes to relationships, a measure of realism is needed methinks.

I always thought realism to be overrated.