A few weeks back I summarily executed another relationship. This marked the fourth relationship in three years that I had ended within a week of the three-month mark. Which, let's be frank, is not a great looking stat to have on anyone's scoresheet. Either for me, or for the women I date. Each time, the girls have been lovely and beautiful and the sex has been magnificent. But still, each time, the three month mark rolls into view and suddenly my convictions . . .

Eamonn got fat; Lewis got thin. Chris manages a Poundstretcher and dreams of becoming a policeman. Jane is married and is giving birth to her first baby next month. She was the first girl I kissed. Facebook is a funny thing. The popular perception of my relationship with Wales is that I burned all bridges with it. When I was 16, I left my childhood town of Pontypridd for Cumbria while everyone else stayed behind. Our lives diverged at this point: I lived in a bedsit, . . .