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Just had a lovely time seeing my travelling friend off…as lovely as you can have when your nose is running uncontrollably, punctuated by coughing. We went to the Below Zero Ice Bar, which entailed wearing capes that look a bit like graduation gowns (see also: hideous photographic evidence on Facebook) and drinking vodka cocktails from glasses made of ice, followed by a gluttonous tapas feast at La Tasca. Stayed south of the river at Charlie’s flat, watched 300 (well-made tosh about butt-kicking spartans) then fell asleep on Charlie’s wonderous orthopaedic matress until about 10am.

I have decided that the point of tomorrow is not to make it into a blubbering farewell-followed-by-burning-everything occasion but to be casual about it, talk calmly about positive things, and convince Magda that I am in a place where I’m happy and comfortable enough in myself that I can accept going to her shows when they are good or interesting in their own right and saying a brief hello without getting upset through feeling inferior or wanting more. I think I AM getting to that place, and have been for some time – the main reason I got in touch with her at this point (aside from figuring out what to do with the increasingly pointless-seeming website) was a sense that she might still be wary of me after our initial frank exchange of messages a few years back, and a desire to reassure and make a resolve…for both our sakes.

Of course I’ll be a bit nervous, as I am with anybody I’ve not seen much of in a while, but I hope I know well enough what I want to say that I can reign it in.

I am working in the afternoon and seeing her in the early-evening and would prefer not to receive “good-luck” texts or phonecalls throughout the day as that only creates a sense of occasion which neither of us want. As arranged the other day, I will be staying the night at C. and C.’s flat, which means I probably won’t be able to call anyone later either, but I will be in good hands.

Thanks, as ever, for all your kindness and support.

First of all, school has been great this week. I’ve been holding off talking about it due to paranoia that I’ll jinx it if I say I’m enjoying it but I am. This week, as part of their Literacy lessons, I’ve been teaching A., my boy, and R. his dyslexic friend, the basics of journalism, using the exact same exercise I learnt at journalism school (hey, 5 grand’s worth of education for free isn’t bad). They love it, and they like me. I let them get away with things other teachers wouldn’t because I know that ultimately they will knuckle down and work to their best of their ability.

Secondly, after work today, I had a positive business lunch with a lady who runs a dyslexia-support provision franchise (a proper one, not one of those that believes you can cure dyslexia by wiggling your thumbs around and eating berries), which may lead to some steady work once my contract at the school finishes. Very shiny.

Thirdly, Magda’s website is officially Gone, links to it on Wikipedia have been removed, and I’m meeting her on the South Bank on Monday evening. This is interesting. You see, for a couple of days I’d been having a lot of the familiar symptoms: jitters, jitters in coffee shops (I somehow associate all coffee shops everywhere with her, because she was the first person I ever really met for the first time in one), not eating, morning crying/feeling sick, effed-up sleeping patterns. As is also routine, this led to mum becoming The Emotion Police, berating me to get the heck over myself and so on. She worries, understandably, and gets angry out of worry, which is also understandable, but about as helpful as an appetite-suppressant factory in Sudan at this particular juncture. Hence, I’ve taken part of Magda’s advice and arranged to meet C. and her friends afterwards and stay at C.’s-and-girlfriend’s flat in Muswell Hill overnight so that, come what may, I don’t have to go back home to my parents straight afterwards. By canny coincidence, C. and C. are going to be at a writing group on the South Bank that night, so we can even travel back to the flat together. Taking this decision seems to have improved my mood vastly, and served as an epiphany that – shock horror! – the best way to approach a meeting with someone who doesn’t want to talk to you because she’s perpetually worried you’re going to jump off a cliff is, er, not to give them that impression. Which makes me wonder whether half the anxiety I’ve felt over my association with Magda has been driven by arguing with my parents about it. As I’ve said, their anger is understandable, having witnessed its most destructive effects c.2001-3. But I’m very happy and greatly relieved not to have to involve them too much in the aftermath of these things anymore.

Fourthly, one of my schoolfriends is jammily off on a round-the-world trip soon. Which means a trip to London tomorrow to bid her goodbye, and staying the night at Miss Charlie’s house (my parents are away in Dorset for the night but have thankfully managed to find a cat-sitter for Other Cat on Sunday morning). All For The Win.