I really, really want to be kind. And honest. I've not always been great at it, and in my twenties ended more than one relationship horribly, in a classic remake of "If I Behave Badly Enough They'll Chuck Me" - a movie that nobody's yet bothered to make first time around. Except me, in live non-filmed documentary form. Because I was a bit shit at saying, "Sorry, but I don't like you as much as I used to." Actually, worse than a bit shit. I'm genuinely sorry about that. Especially to the lovely girl that ended up marrying one of my other good friends. I went to their wedding. It's OK. Honestly. We're all mates. Still. Even after my flailing arms launched a full glass of red wine over her white dress last summer. Phew. Honesty and kindness hadn't entirely worked with Angie, who'd been my first serious newly-single rebound relationship. I adored her. She'd been the champion grenade-thrower at her Senior School.