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Dear FutureMe, I bet you're pissing yourself at all these e-mails now; you even tried to get Volley to send one to herself last night. You worked together last night and spent nearly the whole night hugging and snogging and groping each other: very unprofessional, you were even lying down on a bed at one point. She's just texted you back, You just heard the tone downstairs. What the hell is going on; you don't really want her: she's not your type: she's got a kid, she says she is marrying her boyfriend later this year and she gave you your key back last night; But you can't get her out of your head for some reason. I hope you haven't gone back to Eebs, she could do so much better for herself than you; I know she wants to, and a part of you does too. Only time will tell, you drunken old Fart Dave. P.S not drunk at the moment it's 11.30 in the morning.