Cumbernauld, where this train terminates

Trina came over for lunch. Her journey was long and difficult, so I made a nice stew and a coal fire. She wanted a shower, and came down with a shawl wrapped round her lovely tits. Afternoon sex, wine, champagne, fairy lights round the fireplace. She gave me a biography of Owain Glyn Dŵr.

Up at 5.30am, we fell asleep on the train to Glasgow. We walked across the city to Queen St station and bought tickets to Cumbernauld.

The accent is softer than Glasgow and very pleasant. We asked a security man the way into town, but as it's a town which separates cars and pedestrians, he was unable to give us more than general directions. However, signs cajole pedestrians to the town centre.

I thought that the place wouldn't be as bad as its reputation. It was.

The shopping centre wasn't exactly welcoming.

But the lift to the shops has a jazzy ceiling

Things must be getting bad: the Pound Shop has closed.

Still, the library's open, at the end of this corridor.

We walked back to the station, past some blocks of flats, and a tip.

We had a much better time in Glasgow, starting with an optimistic bin at Queen St station.

We spent a happy afternoon drinking and talking in the Blackfriars and the Horseshoe Bar, and chatting to a couple from Edinburgh at the next table. I fancied Trina so much. I said I didn't know what love is and how I don't want to live with her, that at the moment, she's an exciting, sexy girlfriend and I don't want anything domestic to make that disappear.

On the train back we slept all the way home. In my bedroom we fell asleep quickly but woke up to a nice sleepy fuck. We dozed off and I realised something was wrong. I ignored it and made us coffee. We went down Wetherspoons for breakfast and I had a pint. At the station I met N who gave me back the bag I'd left round their flat. Trina rushed off to the platform. I apologised to N and went after her. "No, it's alright," she said. "I'll go. You go and talk to your friend." "It's OK--we weren't saying anything of earth-shattering importance." Why is she pissed off with me?

"Can I ring you?" she texted at about 3pm. "Of course" I said, hoping she'd say what was on her mind. I didn't expect her to say that she wanted to end it. It's not the kind of relationship she wants. She didn't like the things I said in Glasgow, and said it's not a caring, committed relationship. I was speechless. I had to go to work at Really Late and texted her from there.

"I want to be with you. I want a future with you. We're different but let's not let that get in the way. Let's talk about this. I want you sexually and going out with each other and talkingly. Please let's not us throw this away."

"My turn to be uncompromising," she replied. "I don't want the life you want. It's not going to work. Best to end it now, really. I am desperately sorry but my mind is made up."

"I wish you every good wish. I'm so sorry. I want you to be happy. I've loved being with you. I've loved every minute of it and I'm desperately sad it has to end. You're lovely Xx."

She didn't reply, and possibly my last ever text to Trina reads "Have a lovely life my darling. I will always care about you and will always want to hear from you Xx."

All the things in my diary, the plans, the days out, the meal in Prestatyn with her friends next Tuesday; the unmade bed where we've had such lovely, kissy, stroky, sexy times.