Me, my new business partner and his girlfriend, are down the pub to discuss the details. I'm dreading this. How will I afford it? -- isn't paying for anything, neither is --. How can I take money off the gorgeous sexy poor girls, who are my friends (the biggest compliment I can give anyone)?

I walk round Wilko, chemical scents advertised as natural, to while away the time till one o'clock. What am I getting myself involved in? His contact has been convicted for murder.

New Business Partner can't really handle his drink. Switches like that after two bottles, but wants a third. She talks him out of it. I want to talk to her. She's into jazz-funk, like me, and mentions a Wilton Felder track, the citing of which makes me sit up. Not many women know who Wilton Felder is. They get into a bit of a domestic. I'm off to the loo to let it fizzle out.

When I come back he's gone. "Where's he gone?" I say. "He's just fucked off. He's got no keys," she says. "But he won't be able to get in," I say. We talk for a bit. "He takes it all out on me. In public, he's friends with everyone." I wonder whether he hits her.

We sat together and had the best ten minutes of the afternoon. She finished her wine and me my beer. "I'm going to get off now," she said, "because otherwise I'm going to end up sleeping with you."

We kissed with exactly coded decorum, on the cheek. "The thought has fleetingly crossed my mind," I said.

Me and new mate are off to Nottingham on Friday to meet a murderer. But I'm sure he's a very nice man really.

I've got the girls this weekend but carved a couple of hours out down the pub.

"If you fuck me over on this, I will fuck you over ten times worse," he said. "I don't deal with skanks." I didn't know how to reassure him. "Who are they, your people? he pressed.

"Well, one's a Housing Officer, one's a Probation Officer. [--] is a teacher and [--] has got his own IT business."

"Right, that's alright. But I don't deal with skanks."

His girlfriend, with whom I was at school, talked about how big my parents' adopted home town of Middlesbrough is and the difficulty of breaking eggs in one hand and how to get them to sit in a circular pool on the plate. She said that she can get me far better eggs than anything I'll have tasted. "Eggs" became a codeword and it was funny listening to ourselves develop it.

He went off to have a cigar. I said how nice their flat looked when I was there yesterday. "It's me that pays for all that you know. We have to pay 340 quid for bills every month. It's me that pays it. He hasn't worked for twelve months. Anyway shut up he's back now."

"What the fuck am I doing," I thought, as he said "You're coming down to Nottingham with me, because [--] will want to meet you. But with me."

It sounds intense from this condensed retelling but it was all drunkenly amiable and open, me and her talking about how when a new man comes along the children take against him despite him having no catalytic role in the breakdown of the former relationship. The next table was earwigging. We noticed it and switched to cooking techniques and how best to kill crabs.

I went to get another pint. When I came back the atmosphere had changed. "No, that's too much," she said. "No that's going too far," and got her coat. "What's going too far? What's the matter?" I said, after she'd left. He screwed his head into his hand. "She's pissed off."

"What with? About what we've been talking about?"

"No, no, not that." I waited. But nothing more. This is why I like women more than men. Just fucking talk about what's on your mind.

He spilt his wine and used my Lancaster Guardian to mop the pool up. "One nil to me," I thought. I hope this is going to work. It's the thought of having to make conversation in his car all the way to Nottingham that bothers me the most.

I rang Kim, a long phone call. Told her a bit about Mary-Ann and the feeling of formless anxiety with which I wake up some days. We spent a long time ruminating over calendars, trying to meet. "But if you're coming over," she said, "stay a while. It's not as if we talk all the time." I liked her for making not talking something she values. I look forward to my wasted times with Kim. Silence. Pauses. Long minutes of a tumble-thought of nothing. Then looking up and half smiling.

It was for a bit of part-time EFL teaching.

I have:

Two good humanities degrees
Qualified school teacher
Certificate in Teaching English as a Foreign Language (taken in Lisbon)
Experience in teaching children and adults in the UK and abroad
Conversational French and Portuguese
Never ill
Understated but classy dress sense

It wasn't asked of me, but since they also lay on a bit of a social and sporting programme, I mentioned the fact that I am a qualified FA referee for under-14 games. Yes, the pupils would be over 14, but I could have organised Chinese Economics Students XI v Malaysian Trainee Doctors XI.

...you have not been shortlisted for interview. May we take this opportunity of thanking you for your interest in working for the University and to wish you success in the future.

Probably shouldn't have slightly taken the piss out of their question about "coping under stress" by referring to the years I spent on the railway with thousands of lives passing through my hands every day and having three teenage daughters.

I'm going to get my spies to tell me who got the job. A "nice", docile twentysomething woman, I'll bet. The members of the young female adminstrative cadre that runs universities these days probably feel uneasy about interviewing a man twice their age, let alone managing him.

My rent's going up in April; I'm fairly certain that me and Mary-Ann have come to the end of the road. Today had better improve sharpish.

In happier news, Neil, who has featured here recently in posts about when I kissed a man and I liked it, has been invited to be a contributor to the Guardian!

...from yesterday has been made private (to me only) for the time being. For those who didn't see it: basically, bit of a tricky time for me and Mary-Ann. Will report back later.