My last possible hope for funding, gone. A container load of debt: arriving soon at an address in Lancaster.

Fuck it, I'm doing it anyway.

Met Gaynor in a pub where we had "corn fritters in salsa sauce" which tasted like they were from a packet and a mushroom risotto which looked and tasted like diluted glue. I blathered on about my now suddenly non-existent sex life. "How do feel about it all?" "Disappointed. Slightly scared about going back to no physical contact with anyone again. But not that bothered to be honest. I want a proper girlfriend now."

Then I went round to Seriouscrush's where they'd asked me if (if, ha ha) I'd like to come round and try some old homemade wine they'd found. They're doing some exhausting renovation work on their house and I got them out of bed at 6pm. "Sorry," she said, "we were just having a little sleep." You fucking lucky bastard, and what a waste - I bet you never even touched her. Best was the 1999 V.d.P. Côtes de Lancastre du Chemin de Fer Abandonné aux Framboises.

It got quite relaxed and I broached the subject of me staying in the house which they rent me while I do my PhD. Technically speaking, the tenancy expires next month. They both leant back slightly and shook their heads, as if it was given that I was going to stay there. Sometimes I wish we could have a ménage à trois where she slept with me but had all the financial security with him, but that wouldn't work – sex with someone else's girlfriend isn't exciting if it's allowed.

Oh dear... that went wrong all of a sudden. I rang Felicity who, after chatting aimiably for a few minutes said, in a calm way, that she wants to "give it a rest", although later in the call she referred to "what we had" and various other formulations in the past tense. She wanted to know "where it's going" seeing as we don't actually have much in common. I knew this was going to happen at some point. I've never seen this as a relationship and that fundamental difference between us isn't going to be resolved.

I went to the off-licence before it closed, after which I bumped into my friend who had had the same idea and who took me into his front room where Johnny Mathis's Stone In Love With You was playing on his beautiful looking and sounding hifi. Then I rang Frances, and we had a rather tortuous 40 minutes trying to arrange a long weekend away, her checking dates on the internet as we talked, me being perhaps slightly irritatingly tentative because I can't say when precisely I'll be needed to look after the children.

Five minutes later, I get an email saying that she's fed up with being "bottom of the list" in my priorities, that's it's too much effort, and that I'm too busy. Then, a text saying it's not working out and that we should stop it before we fall out.

That's a shame.

It's striking that this has happened within days of an online friend of mine having met someone he thinks might be his soulmate. It hasn't been straightforward for him at all, and still isn't, but reading his brief public messages about it struck a chord in me. It made me feel uncomfortably aware of how impatient I am, happy to settle temporarily for almost anyone willing to get in bed with me. I knew almost immediately, both with Felicity and Frances, that they would never be more than friends.

Update 1700: got back from lovely afternoon with one of my daughters, rambling up a local crag, picking wild raspberries and a late and huge pub lunch; then got home to find a slightly unpleasant email from Frances saying, amongst other things, that she has never found our "drunken shagging" enjoyable, in any way. She's not talking about sex, of course, she's talking about the incompatible views of our relationship, just as Felicity was in a more articulate and honest way.

I replied "Well, that's certainly very clear. All the best and thanks for some really lovely times. Looby."

Which sounds better than "Fuck off then. I enjoyed it and you did too, you lying cow." From now on, I'm going to be friendly and polite, at the level you would be, say, to a visiting academic colleague. That'll piss her off.

Along with someone else I've been worried that these posts are becoming very one-dimensional. Then, at the same time, I'm writing about something very new to me - sex - which I spent 11 years not having.

On Monday I texted Linda, who, as she is finishing a PhD and working fulltime, has refused most of my invites for a few months. Knowing she'd be still be working, I suggested we could meet up at 10ish. "You read my mind! Sun, 10ish?", she replied.

When we're together, I'm sure everyone thinks we're boyfriend-girlfriend. I was walking home and she texted saying she'd had a lovely evening. "Me too," I said. "I love you Linda." The love you have in friendships is one of the most precious things in the world.

On a more prosaic level, and feeling a bit frisky and drunk on Thursday at late o'clock, I texted Frances: "I don't suppose by any chance you fancy any company tonight?" She didn't reply so I went to bed. Then the phone rang and in something of a daze, I walked round to hers, feeling a bit ashamed of the phone call, and of taking her up on the generous response to it.

In Leeds on my way to meet Kim, I thought I'd spray a bit of one of the testers in some perfume shop around a bit. So I went into Lush, found a little tube of something for men, shut my eyes and sprayed it round my neck. It didn't feel as though the sprayer was working properly and I opened my eyes to see I'd splattered white globules of body lotion over my face, neck and shirt. I wiped it all off as best I could with some tissues and scuttled out of the shop with a shiny face and grease stains all over my shirt.

In the Guardian's Blind Date column they ask for "First impressions". I'd have to say "phwaor" or "fucking hell" or something similarly phatic. Younger, prettier and better looking than her unflattering picture. Darkish blonde or very pale brown hair in an unruly bob, green eyes, sexily curvy. We chatted away without a let-up for five hours over several pints and our tea. She was very witty, making jokes about the sentence I hadn't finished, un-PC and swore freely. I told her the story about Lush and she said "Why, are you normally a bit smelly?" and when I said I looked like a scene in a porn film she said "Yes, I know, I've done it myself. But doesn't your skin feel marvellous afterwards?"

"So Kim," I said. "How come you're single? "Well, I'm not exactly single as such. I see a man at the weekends." She's not interested in monogamy. She does nude kite flying. "It's just nudism with a kite" she helpfully explained.

As the evening wore on I was getting more and more physically attracted to her. We walked up to the station where our trains were leaving from adjacent platforms. "Well, I'm not sure what the protocol is now," she said. "It's this," I said, and drew her towards me and closed my eyes. She rapped me hard on the forearm. In the second that followed, I was astonished; then smiled as though I had been joking; then carried on as though nothing had happened. "It'd be nice to see you again," I recovered.

I got on the train and thought about it a long time, irritated that I'd introduced the one slightly awkward element into the entire night. I was convinced that we'd kiss to say goodbye.

I texted her: "Thanks for lovely time. You're very funny you know. And quite fit. See you soon I hope X". And accidentally sent it to Felicity.

I realised my mistake, rang her up, and Felicity took it all well. She goes on dates with other men herself, but it still must have felt a bit insulting. I sent it again to the right person. "Had really good time. Looking forward to seeing you again soon", she replied. I would like to see her again: she's fun to be with. But I'm not wasting time and money going to Leeds all the time without Occasional Moderate Bra Removal.