I gave the blasted Paltrow method a go and allowed a bit of conscious uncoupling to creep in

The builder boyfriend has a new girlfriend. I suppose he was bound to move on eventually. I just never thought he would move on this quickly. From the day I told him, in the traditional female way, that it really wasn’t working and never would work because of things that were entirely his fault, to the moment I heard he had a new squeeze, I would say it was three weeks tops.

She’s nearly ten years younger than me. And, by the sound of it, a deal better off. Good for him. If I could have traded him in for a younger, richer model I might have. But we’ll never know, because I don’t have that option.

I’m a woman in her 40s and as such I did what all women in their 40s do: I told him that all this on-off nonsense wasn’t working and walked into the dark unknown of singledom. I took stock, cried a bit, talked to my girlfriends, cried a bit more, watched Bridesmaids twice, tried to work out where it went wrong, what I really wanted, who I really was, where I wanted to go…

While he went down the pub and chatted up a friend of a friend and hey presto, he was all sorted! I was feeling sanguine about it, though, until he suggested we stay friends. What sort of madness is that? I don’t want to stay friends with a former boyfriend who’s got himself a younger woman.

I should have stuck to my instincts but I fell for all that sub-Gwyneth Paltrow/Chris Martin-esque hooey about always being special to each other and remaining in each other’s lives. I’m ashamed to say I allowed a bit of conscious uncoupling to creep in.