Doomed Date Diaries by Bethany Quinn
My new fitness regime was as a direct result of the previous night's unexpectedly disheartening dating disaster. So, as usual- I only had myself to blame.
Vernon was a personal trainer. He was lean and tanned and had strange muscles in his neck which were probably attached to weightlifting ears. He bulged where most men sag. He wore designer trainers and overly tight T-shirts and worked with a host of minor celebrities whose names he couldn't possibly mention- but I probably wouldn't know anyway because I don't own a television.
It also didn't take long to realise that I wouldn't be falling head over heels in love with him. Vernon was already deeply and exclusively in love with himself.
And when he casually slipped into the conversation the fact that there were as many calories in a large glass of red wine as there were in two chocolate biscuits- I knew- without a moment's hesitation- that I never wanted to see him again.
I'd almost made it halfway down the Broad Walk, Kensington Palace was in my sights- and every part of me felt like it was in flames and ready to fall off.
I stopped and clung onto a bench for dear life, resisting the urge to be sick on the couple already sitting there. They carried on arguing, completely oblivious to my distress.
I wiped the sweat from my eyes- or was it tears?- and glanced at my newly acquired GPS tracking sports watch- with built-in heart monitor. It was clearly faulty. Instead of many hundreds of torturous miles- I had apparently only run 1023 yards.
Jogging was Matt's idea. He liked nothing better than running a marathon when he wasn't moving other people's heavy furniture about.*
When I got my breath back and could feel my legs again I was going to have to kill him. It was a shame. I've been in love with him since I was nine years old.
*Actually he left the really heavy stuff to his cousin Will. Will could lift a piano on his own- you just had to show him which way up it was supposed to be afterwards.