Sunday 30th August

Lily has moved out. Perhaps my note leaving pushed her over the edge. I took exception to pots caked in five day old risotto, and chocolate sauce splattered across the walls. Was I not justified in the odd death threat? Despite this, I was sad to see her go but have been enduring the loss as best I can.

We have a new flatmate, Beth- an old uni friend. She's exceptionally clean and generous with her Crunchy Nut Cornflakes. You couldn't ask for more in a housemate, really. However, I'm not quite sure yet how I feel about her ironing habits. I came home the other day to find her pressing The Boyfriend's boxers, whistling the theme tune to Disney's 'Be Our Guest' while she worked. He of course, was delighted with the fruits of her labour. I've not so much as washed a sock for him since we moved in together and now he's having his intimates attended to. Next thing, she'll be hopping into bed with us and complimenting his manhood.

I'm undecided as to what course of action to take. On the one hand, my future wife credentials could be seriously jeopardised if I allow this to continue. He'll no doubt start to expect the same wifely behaviour from me. I am a serious journalist dammit, at the forefront of agricultural reporting. How can I commit to the domestic grind when there are cows to save and tractors to be raced!

On the other hand, I must not be selfish. Beth clearly takes pleasure in her work. She's also taken to ironing my smalls and bringing The Boyfriend and me tea in bed. How can I deprive both of them of such joy?

No, I must hold my tongue and soldier on as best I can. And if it all starts to get a bit too creepy, I can always leave her a note.