NEW START
New year. New job. New life?

Work has been a huge shock to my sedentary system. After three months off, my body and I were becoming accustomed to neverending days of nothingness. Now I'm up at the crack and don't get home till it's closed again.

And as I dither over whether I ought to watch the end of Newsnight or start reading the biography of Marco Pantani, now is probably as good a time as any to take stock.

So what have I learned about turning 30 and surviving it?

1) Don't fall in love with your best friend. If you must, don't tell her. And if you do, don't bother blubbing like a Norwegian whaler who's forgotten his Neutrogena.

2) Don't stay in a dead-end job longer than is necessary. And if you do, try not to play a pivotal role in getting an unknown Congolese IT man on the News, and then watch in horror as his career as a novelty celebrity takes off and his appearances on TV multiply while yours become a distant memory.

3) Don't follow up a five-year old fantasy and expect the reality to match. And if you do, do it properly. Don't be lulled into thinking that, despite the distance, the time, the boyfriend of three years, and the 48 hour time limit, you're going to make her fall in love with you.

4) Don't look at years gone by with rose-tinted glasses. They weren't that great. They were just years you'd lived in a particular time, in a particular place, and perhaps with a particular person.

5) Don't write a blog that no-one reads, and even less people bother posting on. If it's for catharsis, then write a diary. Some things are best kept between you and your cluttered mind.

GAME OVER II
I feel better today. The mist has cleared, the tears have dried and I'm back on home soil.

It still hurts - rejection, frustration, loneliness. But I need to be strong. I need to realise that if I'm not for her, then she can't be for me; that if she was so wonderful you would have felt it; there would have been a chain-reaction with each of us feeding of the other's inspiration. The thin lady sang and it's over!

Maybe things would have gone differently if our bizarre social (a hybrid of Big Brother-cum-blind-date-with-a-pen-pal) experiment hadn't been so intense. But we tried that five years ago. No, it didn't work because it could never work, because she doesn't want it to work. I need to believe that.

But if she called tomorrow to say she'd changed her mind, I'd come running back like a wounded puppy.

GAME OVER
I came, I saw, I failed. And now, after crying myself home along the frosty, cobbled streets of this Balkan capital I don't much feel like doing anything. I don't feel like sleeping. I can't stomach any food. I don't even feel like writing. But it beats lying awake in bed thinking about the moment that my fantasy turned into heartbreak.

My friend T had warned me before that there was very little chance of the reality of L - or rather the image of L that had distilled in my brain over the years - matching my fantasy. She was wrong. L is as beautiful, as graceful, as decent and passionate as a I remembered her. Seeing her again merely brought these feelings back to the fore, even stronger than they once were. So reality did live up to my fantasy in that sense - the trouble is the reality of me didn't match up to hers.

As we walked home after a night out with the local community I asked her what she felt. In her inimitable style, she simply said that she was glad I came; that yes, it had been intense, but that now at least we could move on in our lives.

Her words were expected, but not the ones I'd hoped for. In a way, I kind of would have preferred her to have pinpointed my failings, or the things I said, or the things I did, which convinced her that I wasn't the one for her. But either because it was too hard for her or - let's be charitable - to spare my feelings, she didn't.

Could I have done things differently? I don't think so. I am, after all, me, and even with all the effort in the world it seems clear that whatever it was that made her break up with me all those years ago, it was still there today. True, what with her having a boyfriend and my having just two days to prove myself, it was always going to be an uphill struggle. But I guess I let my faith, my fantasy, my overwhelming desire to meet "the one" become detached from probability.

I told her that she was was gorgeous; she was a great person; she had a good heart; and that she has all the qualities that I would look for in a girl. Just seems that when measured against the qualities she was looking for, I was left wanting.

"Take care," I said to her as I handed her her father's umbrella outside her apartment. I kissed her lightly on the cheek and embraced her. A single tear rolled down my cheek from my left eye. I'm glad she saw it. I took her cold hand in mine. And I kissed her again. She went to hug me, but I had only gone in for the kiss. I walked away and the lachrymose torrent began.

Up until now, about 45 minutes later, I've managed to control myself. But I know that as soon as I go upstairs, I'll lose it. Right now I want to be back in London; I want to dig a hole, climb into it and wallow in my own-self pity until my new job starts in the New Year.

Am I glad I came because now I know we're not meant to be? Not really. no. I feel heartbroken. I feel crushed. I feel sick to my stomach. Right now I would rather be anywhere but in this three-star hotel in this heart-breaking city in the loneliest hour of my life.

DON'T BALKANISE MY HEART
I could be on the brink of falling in love with the woman of my dreams..or the greatest folly of my life so far.

For years I've fantasised about jetting across Europe to visit L. I'd arrive at her office with a bunch of flowers, persuade the receptionist to let me go inside unanounced, and then just tap on her on the shoulder and have her melt in my arms.

But now I don't have to. As the three people who read this blog will be aware, earlier this month I took it upon myself to tell L how I felt. I told her everything - that my heart always skipped a beat when an e-mail of hers dropped into my inbox; that I'd been smitten with her for five years; that I'd never met anyone like her and that I didn't think I ever would.

Her initial reply was disappointing but expected. She was with someone; she couldn't invite me to visit, but if I wanted to, I could still come.

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said. I didn't want to be a muppet who travels across a continent when he knows he's not welcome.

Then it happened. I came home last night and there was an e-mail waiting for me. It was L. In an uncharacteristically detailed and heartfelt missive, she told me that she does think of me; she does want to see me; and she does want to know if we are meant to be together.

I was gobsmacked. Had I misunderstood her initial snub? Had I blown my one chance of happiness with L, something I'd literally prayed for and cried myself to sleep over?

Not yet. I'm flying to meet her next week. My heart and my head are both in knots. I'm in ecstasy, I'm scared, I'm excited, I'm exhausted. I could be on the brink. This could be it. L and I could finally get together, fall in love and lock lips as the credits roll. Then again, I could be about to be shat on from the greatest height imaginable - I could soon be floored by a massive, heart-breking turd. But I want to do this. I need to do this. If it's meant to be, I know that it will...

DRUNK AND CONFUSED
My toungue felt like it had been tenderised and toasted. My stomach bubbled like a witch's cauldron. And I felt confused.

I didn't drink much last night - probably a half dozen or so bottles of Budwar. And as the morning mist cleared, I realised why I felt lost.

Just two days after the Croatian object of my affections had finally put an end to five years of fantasy, I was having a heart-to-heart with N.

N and I are that curious hybrid of friend-cum-partner. We first went out six years ago. I was hooked. She broke my heart. I hated her. I forgave her. We got back together again. I went away. We were friends. And now...Now, I think I want a third bite of the cherry.

I planned to tell her at some point. Just not last night. But when she started telling me how my friend D and I were a perfect match, I had to tell N why I disagreed.

"We get on brilliantly," I told her. "We play off each other. You make me laugh like no-one else does. I enjoy being with you. And then, when I saw you at your mother's funeral, I saw a side of you I'd never seen before. I saw you had a heart as well."

Her reply was, well, typically enigmatic. She felt the same about me. She fancied me, enjoyed being with me, could snog me right there and then, but wasn't sure if I was right for her. When she saw me with D she was jealous, but then realised that D and me were probably a better match.

"Try it with her and then come back to me if it doesn't work," she said, seeming to echo Sting's exhortation that if you love someone you should set them free.

But I'm unvonvinced. While I like D, find her attractive and get on with her, there just isn't the same chemisty as there is between N and me.

Still, I called D today all the same. She wasn't there so I left a message. Then I called N - she's the one I want. And she knows it.

DATING DISASTER
It was an inauspicious beginning to my Israeli dating career. After weeks of trans-continental e-mailing, my meeting with H came to a premature end in a cafe just yards from where Yitzchak Rabin was assassinated.

I shouldn't have been surprised, then, when the other target for my trip proved to be both unattainable and undesirable.

Hint one came just as I was leaving my brother's Stepford-esque town. I called M to tell her I was on my way. She said she was bringing a friend along, and not in a "let's have a threesome" kind of way.

We met at a cafe in a town just outside Tel Aviv. I had a milkshake and hot chocolate; she and her friend nibbled on a salad while downing capuccinos.

Hint two was anectodes about a boyfriend in South America; another guy she'd stood up the previous night; and a third one who's exact place in the pantheon of M's love-life I'd forgotten almost as soon as I'd been told.

Her friend was somewhat more perceptive. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned her fellow diners like The Terminator. "What on earth is she wearing...Who does he think he is...Hmmm. Nice."

Likewise, I only had to look at her for her to know what I was thinking about M, and for me to know that she knew what I knew and M didn't have a clue. Third time's the charm?