THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING DUMPED (and why you’re never better off being the one to end it)

IMG_3234Reader, he dumped me must surely be four of the happiest of words in the English language.

Stay with me.

For there is a stringent mathematical reasoning to what I’m about to say.

Having spent the last few years working on a novel all about the comedy (yes, comedy!) of break-ups, I’ve become something of a connoisseur on the matter. And I can honestly confirm that contrary to received opinion, being dumped is far, far greater thing than being the dumper. So if you’re currently mourning a break-up that wasn’t your decision, and you’re about to embark on Valentines’-Day on your tod, then here’s something that might make you feel better.

Of course, it’s no picnic, being the dumpee. Someone’s just glibly ripped your heart through your bottom, and you didn’t see it coming.

But then, as time goes on, there’s something infinitely worse about being the dumper. When the grief really sets in, then boy are you in trouble. Because you have yourself to blame for the pain, on top of the pain. You’ll be like, I wish to god I could blame him for the way that I feel, but I can’t because – I inflicted this pain on myself! I’m such a dickhead!’

When you break up with someone that you still love dearly but you know it’s just not right, or you’ve suddenly realised you’re about as compatible as Gregorian chant and deep house, then…well, that’s the hardest kind of breakup ever. (Of course, if at the time of dumping, you feel no love for your ex, only hatred and utter disdain – then, you’re going to be just fine and you need not read on.)

So at the risk of going a bit Carol Vorderman on your asses, I’ve decided that what the world needs is a mathematical formula for break-ups.

Now, I’m no maths bod (as a youth I used to weep over my maths homework), but I did get forced to do a module of logic in my second year of Philosophy at university. Which consisted of breaking arguments down into their simplest forms and working things out with them. So, here is my theory of breakups presented as a Logic problem. (Eat your heart out, Prof Kripke…)

If P is pain, X is your X, and D is you, the dumper, and L is how much you love the person, then the formula for how depressed you feel (S) is as follows.*

S = (P÷ L) x D (to the power of L)

Whereas, if you’re simply dumped the formula is much simpler. It’s simply

s = P ÷ L

So, the good news is, in the long run, the value of S is always going to be lower when you were dumped. Hurrah!

Plus the fact: If you have been dumped, you won’t have yourself to blame when the inevitable game-show parade of ‘HERE’S WHAT YOU COULD HAVE WON’ starts up and they start to digitally maraud that they’ve whisked their new girlfriend away for the weekend and so on. When the ex suddenly gets their shit together and become someone else’s model boyfriend, it’s a little like when you’ve been trying to get a jar of marmalade open and one lucky bugger goes last and just gets it open. You want to shout ‘I loosened it up for them, really!’ but of course you don’t, because you’re not (that) mental.

That said, seeing your ex doing really well in Life After You is a fantastic thing because it actually means you did the right thing in ending it! Yes! Seeing the ex-love-of-your-life shine without you just goes to show you didn’t bring out the best in each other the way someone else could. Someone might be a commitment phobe with one person, and Romeo-on-heat with another. Here comes another watertight mathematical proof: every relationship we have is just a dress rehearsal, shaping you up for the right one. A training course. The only trouble is, we’ve no idea how long it’s for – or when you’ll eventually graduate with honours.

Wringing the last drop out of the mathsy theme here, my friend Rick has a theory about relationships, that they can all be classified according to different ‘sentences.’ And as you go on, many of them fall by the wayside after three months. But others, they might blossom into being either a six-monther, one year, two years, five years… or… life. Sometimes you may have a two year-er that’s ‘gone long’ or ‘gone wrong,’, but very rarely do relationships end at a different stage.

All relationships – friendly and romantic ones – are there for either a reason, a season or a lifetime. So next time you break up with someone, whether you’re the dumper or dumpee (if you’re very lucky) realise that really, all that’s happening is that you’ve lived out your sentence. You weren’t ‘lifers’.
** It feels pressing to point out now that my Logic module was over 15 years ago, and I can’t be held responsible if this is all in fact tosh.

Enjoyed this?
Read some more break-up wisdom in Break-Up Club the novel –<img

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Follow me on Twitter @loreleimathias


(Thanks Pure Evil for the street Art)

Women aren’t as funny as men… and other LOLs from the Melbourne International Comedy Festival- by Lorelei Mathias for

IMG_4158 (1)
(L to R: Josh Glanc, Isabel Angus, Natalie Harris, Rose Callaghan)

American Comedian Eve Ellenbogun is on a first date with a guy. It’s going well, until she tells him what she does for a living. ‘Oh that’s too bad’ he says. ‘I don’t find women funny.’

Luckily, that douche-canoe is laughing on the other side of his face by the time Eve has finished with him. But sadly, he’s not the only one still labouring the bogun opinion that women aren’t as funny as men. Ask anyone working in comedy today – they’ll tell you it’s this misconception that prevents women being better represented in the comedy industry. In the UK’s TV scene, script-editor Andrew Ellard puts it down to a complex and ‘inherent sexism in commissioning.’ UK Script writer and comedian Ariane Sherine says ‘it is something we are all socially conditioned to think from childhood’ – while Indian comedian Neeti Palta still has to put up with bookers back home saying things like ‘you charge how much? I thought female comedians were cheaper’. Like it or not, this ludicrous belief has long been the glue that holds the comedy glass ceiling in place.

And yet, of course, it’s complete tosh. But as with most deep-rooted stains on the cultural carpet of humanity, these things take a little while to come out in the wash. You can either spray it with industrial grade Cillit Bang, or douse it in a bit of our old chum – positive discrimination. With that in mind, as I’ve been lucky enough to be out here in Melbourne reviewing some of the best up-and-coming talent (and the already up-and-comed), I thought I’d compile a handy list of some of the ones I’ve enjoyed the most. Sure, there’s something a bit patronizing about only focusing on female comedians – though not as patronizing as introducing them to the stage as a ‘female comedienne’, as was Sara Pascoe’s lot at Latitude festival 2015, much to her fury.

Some might say that lumping women together does more harm than good as it segregates them further. However, it’s also true that confidence is one of the things that holds some female comics back from getting involved. At this year’s Jeez Louise address at Melbourne Town Hall, hosts Cal Wilson and Nelly Thomas discussed why this belief has been allowed to proliferate for so long. And so much of it comes down to being ballsy (pun not-intended). A survey commissioned by the festival found that men are more pushy at asking for gigs, while women are socially conditioned to be less forth-coming. Around the local club circuit, things can be ‘pretty bro-y’ as Sam Taunton puts it. When you’re gigging every night in small testosterone laden green rooms, it can be a little intimidating – so much so that Canadian comic Ievy Stamatov calls Melbourne ‘a Boys Club with A Capital B’. That’s partly why initiatives like Gaggle, a comedy school for women in Melbourne, have been set up, both to give women training in comedy, and help bolster confidence, too. Currently, the MICF programme comprises 25% women performers, but as Nelly Thomas puts it ‘I do think the festival want it to change. They are doing their best.’

Ariane Sherine argues that we need to do all we can to encourage more women to get into comedy. It really does start at the ground level – even if it’s just shouting about the best comics we’ve seen – who just happen to also happen to be women. Because unfortunately the world is still rife with people spreading the women-aren’t-funny-myth.  Just last week at town hall, the hub of the comedy festival, I met flyer-er Tess Nossal who was reeling after she tried to hand a man some flyers and he refused to take them, saying ‘No, I don’t want those ones. Women aren’t funny.’

A Blurry but beautiful Town Hall – the main hub of Melbourne International Comedy Festival

Clearly, it’s time we threw some rotten tomatoes at this bogus belief… or at least gave it a jolly good heckle. So, permission-to-positively-discriminate-tenuously-established, here’s a list of my favourite shows I’ve seen so far at the Melbourne Comedy Festival. If you like them too, please share this/spread the word so they can sell out on the final weekend. Some of them you’ll have to wait ’til their Edinburgh shows for, others you can still catch if you’re quick…

Dope, Mae Martin – A brilliant and thought-provoking hour, brimming with hilarious observations about dopamine rushes, addiction, and the fine line between passion and obsession. Mae uses exaggeration with aplomb to make her points, and throws out some jaw-droopingly funny imagery – from the vision as a worm at the window who is always late, to her ’not being properly cooked’ and waiting for the right moment to ask her mum if she can ‘get back in for a bit’.  I was laughing and crying in recognition at least twice, which is my favourite thing to do at a comedy gig. ‘It’s nice not to be alone for once,’ Mae quipped early on, referring to the sign language interpreter she was sharing the stage with. ‘Plus he looks like he’s in the Kings of Leon’. Actually, this was one of the only shows I saw that had an interpreter on stage and it really added to the experience of the comedy. Especially the moment where she was describing a fantasy scene with Bette Midler um, going down on her. Seeing the Kings of Leon guy trying to act this out was truly hilarious.

Do you accept this Rose? Rose Callaghan. You’d be crazy not to accept the bawdy, hilarious and witty Rose Callaghan. Her set is all about reality show The Bachelor but my favourite things about it were her candid tales of sex, dating, and the case of the mistaken snapped banjo string, which comes with one of the best punchlines of the festival. Go see! A rose by any other name would just not be as funny. Rose has killed it this year, so much so they added another date for this Saturday.

Nannette, Hannah Gadsby – in what is possibly her swan-song to stand-up, Gadsby explores mental illness and gender oppression with a brutal honesty, and finds comedy in pain like no-one else. Everyone I know that has seen this has needed to take a moment afterwards – me, I cried for 90% of it, such was its powerfully confronting polemic. There is no one quite like her and the standing ovation was a given.

Mucho Relaxo, Cait Johnson – New to the scene and sharing the stage with Gearard McGeown, Johnson is wonderfully deadpan, dry, and just adorably nerdy. Brilliant observations about taking a Myki to the Moon, and looking like she cares about your rental agreement. Love her, one to watch.

Post-Joke Era, DeAnne Smith. Smith was the stand-out of stand-out at the Oxfam Gala for me (see my Chortle review, here if you wish) – but I happened to catch her again at the Comedy Up Late at the Festival Club, and she blew us all away with even more ridiculously funny material. This time about how she identifies not as a man or woman but as  Gentleman Elf/Hot Harry Potter/TransMasculine House Mouse. She also killed it in The Great Debate at the Town Hall. At this point I can’t not briefly don my Comedy Promoter hat and mention that DeAnne is headlining at our LEMON comedy night on 9 May. So if you don’t catch her festival show, fear not! You can see her in Fitzroy’s Hares & Hyenas for just 15 bucks before she leaves on a jet plane back to Canada the next morn. Bargain!

Don’t Get Mad at Me, Eve Ellenbogen – Brilliant material about dating, women’s issues, and waxing – ‘I don’t take it all off – I’m a feminist – they check’. Her set is full of killer lines. One of which – about the survival of the human race – is so unexpected, and so witty, it knocks you for six. Her joke about her reproductive area being a walking museum from the pre-trump era – is nothing short of inspired. Her run has finished but she’s also appearing at the inaugural Lemon.

Lisa Treyger was my favourite out of all the USA Headliners panels. She had a great bit about what guys say after they’ve had sex. I can’t possibly try and describe it here, but basically she did an incredible diatribe about how men have been coming so much over the years that they have to find new places to put the stuff. Women, not so much. Brilliantly biting stuff, loved it.

Twins, Naomi Higgins –  One of the youngest performers in the festival, but no less accomplished, I caught a bit of her set at the Festival Club, enough to make me want to see her two-hander with fellow RAW Comedy finalist Jess Perkins. She has excellent material about the over-proliferation of the term ‘I’m so OCD’, with excellent come-backs. Also, a brilliant bit about curing her mum’s alcoholism through the medium of a drinking game according to how many black people there are on Channel 7.

Dragon, Natalie Harris  Loved her, especially the bit about the hipster lampshades! See my review on Chortle here.

#BLISS! by Isabel Angus  – a ‘razor-sharp’ satire of the fitness industry. This excellent character comedian ‘Perfect Penny’s Body Bliss’ is a taut and toned piss-take of the Instagram Fitspo selfie obsessed culture. She has her own lexicon of wanky terms and sarky aphorisms – from ‘coregasm’, ’Summer bodies are made in Winter’ and ’Tandasanasanasanasnasasana’. She brings boundless energy, excellent sound design and brilliantly low-fi visual aids to the mix. From the buckets full of crisps (sorry, chips), to the printed screenshots of her instagram feed, blown up to A3 and spiral bound, which all adds to the madness. Mad it certainly is, especially when we begin to hear Penny’s own dark inner monologue of self-loathing, which is what makes it such a powerful show. Despite the dark, serious take-out, by the end of the hour, my cheeks had quite a punishing work-out from laughing so hard. Angus also has one of the best viral campaigns in the festival, with her satirical Insta-Feed, and some great online videos which remind me a little of Ben’s Health from UK comedy channel Mr Box. I’d love to see them do a double act. Together they’d be the absolute dream team of Sporty Fitspo wanker parodies. If you can’t catch her in the next three days, Penny is also coming to do a work-out at LEMON.

Double Denim, Michelle Brasier & Laura Frew – I caught a glimpse of this kooky kickass vocal duo at the Tuxedo Cat’s Midnight Madness showcase. It was certainly that – an irreverent and bonkers display of musical comedy and dancing. The highlight of their set being the bit about being able to literally orgasm in the style of ‘Castles in the Cloud’ – um, you had to be there.

Burn the Witch – In her many different characters and voices, Bec Petraitis owned the stage at the Butterfly Club, along with Martin Dunlop, in this kooky play about witchcraft, set in ‘1650ish’, in the small village of Kankle Green. I really enjoyed this as a dramatic interlude to all the stand-up I’d been bingeing on… My favourite parts were the recurring funny meandering pieces of scrolling text; the post modern commentary on their costumes, and the funny cameo each night of different comedians as plants in the audience, answering a question about the Bechdel test before walking out. The court scene at the end was one of the strongest – especially the ‘meta’ part where the true polemic of the play is revealed – that this is all a metaphor about the pressure man puts on ‘people who are different’.

Shaken, Sarah Kendall. Oh Em Gee Sarah Kendall. The master and inventor of the ‘quadruple take,’ one hour with Kendall is like watching a one woman mini-play, told in a plethora of different voices, interlaced with brilliantly observed real-life observations. I was in stitches before she even started when she told the room they needed to strip off if they wanted to stay alive. ‘seriously, its so hot in here’ – ‘this is the world’s worst strip show’. Once we were all suitably less clad, Kendall then presented us with a perfectly formed 60 minute confessional. Less about jokes and anecdotes, more an extended story time, the highlight being the conception of the ‘octuple take’ – which you have to see to fully understand. This show has lines that stay with you long after the lights have come back on – from the memoir of her growing up as an overweight redhead in a small town, pressed up against the window pane of her youth, ‘Mother, why can’t I play under the fiery orb’, to the description of the policeman ‘typing sarcastically’ as he took down her ludicrous crime statement. On a personal note, I am so glad Kendall has moved on from flogging potatoes and found her true calling in life. I once cast her in a set of TV commercials for McCain/Film 4 in which she stole the show… but I’m thrilled to see she’s doing what she was really put on this Earth to do: leave a room full of strangers wide-eyed and gasping, having told them a hilarious story about growing up as a compulsive liar in small-town Australia, before flooring them with a shockingly stirring ending. Her perfectly paced dismount was both an homage to Ferris Bueller, and a testament to the milkshake of human kindness.

Cake in the Rain, Laura Davis – Describes herself as a bisexual, ‘or maybe just a lesbian with a strong stomach’. She is plain hilarious, an incandescent, witty joy to be around. I literally kept looking at my watch to see how much time we had left. 50 minutes of mad-arsed jokes on the ‘little glitches’ and ironies of the world – the way you need scissors to unwrap a new pack of scissors; the tins of spam in her corner shop, the little green men/women, and oh, the apocalypse. She also apologises for doing her first period joke – ‘that’s my first offence in ten years of comedy!” (that’s right boys – girls don’t just do period jokes!) then the last five minutes she suddenly hits you by opening the door ajar on her long-running mental illness, and you feel the room take a breath as she tackles compulsive suicide ideation from an offbeat angle and somehow manages to make us all feel uplifted and moved at the same time. Not surprisingly nominated for a Golden Gibbo, this was one of my favourite shows at the whole festival.

Sinkful of Forks, Jaqueline Mifsud – a regular on the Melbourne open mic circuit and star of The Loop sketch show, Mifsud has been diligently polishing her craft for the last year – at least more than her cutlery. Here’s one I wrote earlier for Chortle.

Upfront – This week was the 30th annual UpFront gala – an exuberant, sparkly celebration of the best comedians at the festival who just happen to be women. Showcasing a wide range of incredible comedians, from Penny Greenhalgh’s character comedy – starring an awkward, mal-co-ordinated ice-skater, which has the room in bits. I’ve also seen her do a mad French chef character, concocting an ice cream cone out of staples, foam, fairy liquid and a tiny piece of mattress which reminded me of Amy Schumer’s Sauced in all the good ways. My other favourites of the night were Nikki Britton’s brilliant bittersweet observations about life in your 30s, and shoulder-dancing in your 50’s. She also dropped the best last line in the show about how even cancer can’t find ‘it’. I also loved the candid and witty Cal Wilson who had some great, confronting material on having an only child – or ‘limited edition’ as she called it. The night was bookended by musical performances shocking and hilarious in equal measure  – from Glittery Clittery to Shirley Gnome. The former opened the night with a sparkly, ludicrous number ‘Change it Up’ that had you laughing your head off then grabbed you by the neck with a harrowing message about domestic abuse. Powerful, sassy and brilliant. The night ended with an upliftingly unhinged rendition of ‘I will always love you’ by Gnome who has the voice of an Angel one minute, and the voice of a devil with acute bronchitis the next. She had the audience howling in laughter and shock as both her sanity and clothing unravelled before our eyes. A perfectly mad ending to a wonderful night.

Forgive me but I’m going go crazy now by mentioning a non-woman. It’s not just that I thought it would be fair to throw a token white male in the mix, in the spirit of political correctness gone mad but, Yianni Agisilaou talks a lot in his show about the problem of women not being considered funny, whilst also tackling the hypocrisies of gender stereotypes in a fresh and funny way. Yes, its contradictory to the cause, but they say comedy is all about reversal so with that I’m recommending Yianni Agisilaou’s The Unpinchable Pink Pen which packs a funny, feminist sixty minute punch. Although if you’re going to catch him at Edinburgh you’ll find it filed under ‘Pockets of Equality’.

I’ll end by mentioning another sassy female comic who I’ve caught a couple of times but am looking forward to her appearance in the Bengalaru showcase tonight – Neeti Palta. She has some sharp, surprising, occasionally crude material about racism, arranged marriages and soap. On the morning of the MICF opening she told me her advice to any female comedians starting out: Women have to ‘get better at faking it’ – faking their confidence, that is, until it’s real. ‘If you’re funny and you have something important to say – work on a sense of humour, and the thickness of your skin. Not the colour of your skin, but the thickness.’

Melbourne International Comedy Festival is on for another three nights, and there are 556 brilliant acts to check out – 103 of them by people who happen to be women. Start here.

All the medicine you need this festival – from pills to puns… to Peach Nicholson


Lorelei Mathias is a comedy writer, producer and sometime reviewer for She is also co-founder of LEMON Comedy: A new stand-up showcase that aims to amplify diverse voices in comedy.  Follow @lemoncomedy on Twitter & FB @LemonComedy and see the full line up here.

Follow Lorelei’s Chortling here, her Twitter here, Facebook here, or read her funny novel Break Up Club here.


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Following on from my post on Holly Bookaholic’s blog – about how editing is such an important theme in the book, my brilliant editor Natasha and I thought it would be fun to share some of the deleted scenes from the novel itself.

These ones I’ve dug out were actually deleted way before they made it to Natasha’s desk (thank goodness). I don’t think I need to explain why they were shed, but mostly, they were dragging down the pace of the book.

OK, so the novel isn’t the paciest of reads even now, but with these in, it was even slower. Imagine! Anyway, we all thought it would be fun to share them, in the interests of celebrating the power of editing.

So, in the manner of a DVD Special Features section, we present to you, The Break Up Club Deleted Scenes…

‘Out-Breaks’ – Scenes from the cutting-room floor


Deleted Scene 1 “Mont Blanc, and Other Low Points”


Eventually, Holly arrived at work with only minor bruising. The rest of the morning was spent in and out of the toilet, in thrall to the ebb and flow of her nausea. In between that, she mostly watched Youtube links from friends, finding them all far funnier than they were. But by mid-afternoon the hangover had changed gear and an unrelenting doom took hold.

This was the trouble with Happy, she was slowly realising. Happy was all well and good, to a point; but you never knew when its sell by date was. The trouble with feeling happy when you were heartbroken was that, at some point you’d remember you were heartbroken again. So any elation was like a rising balloon that you desperately wanted to hold on to; but the higher you got, the steeper the drop would be. You could enjoy the temporary feeling of lightness – but eventually you’d remember again, you’d lose your grip of the balloon, and back down you’d fall.

Maybe, just maybe, alcohol wasn’t actually her friend, she wondered as she tried to distract herself by checking her emails. But all she had was a message from ‘,’ telling her that there was a brilliant offer on this weekend at The White Room Hotel, St.Ives. As ever, the Internet seemed hell-bent on delving into the vault of romantic e-commerce and spitting out reminders at random – of every mini-break, present and thoughtful little thing she’d ever done for Lawrence in their five year tenure. She quickly deleted the email in the hope that it would stop any happy memories from being stirred. But she was too slow; she’d already been accosted by the thought of an evening they’d spent in one of their favourite restaurants in St Ives. Despite herself, she pressed Play on the memory, sat back and watched.

Holly had arrived late to meet Lawrence, and was stood in the doorway of the restaurant, faffing about with her bags – trying to find her mobile, losing a war against gravity with the many layers she was juggling in her arms. Looking around for Lawrence but unable to see him, she had then begun that funny pantomime-esque dance; the one where you’re walking round the restaurant, knowing full-well that the person you’re looking for can see you and is probably waving at you like mad. Meanwhile the whole restaurant is laughing their head off at how silly you look, because you just can’t see them anywhere. So when Holly had finally reached Lawrence after about three hours of flapping, he was grinning at her, a look of adoration in his blue eyes, and just out of nowhere he’d said,

‘I love you.’

Like he’d just thought of it, that second. She’d been floored at the time. It was just so wonderfully not the way you’d normally say something like that for the first time. Its spontaneity was what she’d loved most about it. What she’d loved most about him.

‘Thank you!’ she’d said, ‘Love you too,’ and she’d kissed him on the lips,

leaning across the table, her long hair only just avoiding a dalliance with the cheesy garlic bread.

As the balloon went rising into the air, Holly decided it was time to take

herself to the toilet, to be alone with her pointless reminiscing. You and Lawrence have done your time. Your sentence is over, she kept telling herself. But the finality of it, and the knowledge he was with someone else already; it was too much.

She headed down the corridor, not before clocking Luke ahead of her in the hallway. Which was brilliant, considering she had pretty much never looked worse? She thought about saying hello, but she couldn’t find her voice box, so instead opted for the much more mature approach: lowering the eyes, and marching on prudently as though you’ve not even seen them. Excellent, good save.

Moments later she was sat in the warm bosom of the women’s toilet. She had a nice long, cathartic cry. She opened her mobile phone and began to flick through which BUC member to call. If only Bella was around to speak to. She tried logging into Skype to see if she was randomly online, but her new-fangled smart phone kept on asking her to log in again and asking her to type in security words that really weren’t words, which was all too complicated in her present state of mind. So she gave up on Skype and put her phone into her pocket, realising her nose was in urgent need of blowing.

As she dispatched another batch of snotty tissues into the toilet, she looked down. Oops. She’d blown her nose so many times, and mopped her tears up with such a mountain of toilet roll that it now seemed as if Mont Blanc had sprouted up then and there in the toilet. Uh oh, time to go, she decided, leaping up and flushing the chain, twice.

But it wasn’t having any of it. She flushed it again. Nothing. In fact, if anything, Mont Blanc was now even sturdier. She began to prod at the mountain with the toilet brush. Nothing. Worse, even. Soggy little bits of loo roll were now caught up in the tendrils of the brush.

Could this get any worse, she wondered, bending down to get a better purchase on the u-bend. As she leaned in, naturally, her new smart phone fell into the toilet, landing at the summit of Mont Blanc. She fished the watery Nokia out and dumped it in her bag, too exhausted to react. She returned to the blockage.

After ten minutes of pretending to be a plumber, she gave up and returned the sopping wet toilet brush to its mother ship. And ran.

Two hours later, she saw through the gap in her doorway that there appeared to be water seeping down the corridor, from under an adjacent doorway. Oops. Maybe the time has come to stop drinking so much, she decided, as she heard a beep and saw a new email come in.

Through the fog of her hangover she could just about make out the words.

‘(High Importance): ALL STAFF: the ladies toilets are currently out of service while we tend to a major blockage/flooding incident. In the meantime we are allowed to use the conveniences in Princely Productions next door. Thanking you, Anthea Jessops, Head of Facilities.’

Holly pressed delete and buried her head in her pillow.




Deleted Scene 2.


“Nutrition Advice”


‘I’m serious. No food has passed my lips in days. Unless you count my own mucous, from crying so much,’ Bella said. ‘Does nasal mucous have any nutritional value I wonder? It must do. That’s all that’s in me, and I’m still going, aren’t I?’

‘Well, it’s either nutritious or you’re living off fat reserves,’ said Olivia.

‘It’s quite an efficient system,’ said Bella. ‘First, I cry my eyes out for hours. Then the tears begin the mucous production, and that’s enough to give me enough energy to keep crying the whole day. Kind of like a deranged version of The Water Cycle, like you did in school.’

‘Shall I make a diagram?’ asked Bella, reaching into her bag for her notebook.




Deleted Scene 3.


“The Name Game”


‘Jenny Microwave.’

Holly exploded with laughter. ‘Alright. That’s a good one.’

‘Yeah Hi! I’m Jenny Microwave!’ he said through laughter. ‘Now you.’

‘Oh, I can’t think of any more just now. I’m not really in the zone. How about, Peter… no. Francesca… Francesca Upholstery.’

Lawrence guffawed. ‘Jimmy Cutlery,’ he retorted, barely missing a beat. ‘Hey, I think Jimmy and Jenny would make a nice couple, don’t you? And if Jimbob ever made an honest woman of Jenny, she’d become Jenny Cutlery! Awesome. Your turn.’

Holly thought for a moment, then gave in. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t think of any more. Maybe we can leave it there for today?!’ She gave her boyfriend a nudge.

It was infantile at best, but when no one else was around, Holly and Lawrence would play a few rounds of The Name Game. It was their dark secret, but the rules were simple. You just had to say the most stupid fictional name that came into your head. Usually, the optimum humour could be derived by juxtaposing a regular forename with a surname comprising a domestic appliance of some sort. No one else knew about this game, which had passed the time for them over many a journey on the London Underground.

‘Oh, OK. We need to get off in a few minutes anyway,’ said Lawrence.

Holly was puzzled. ‘No, we don’t. We’re nowhere near Tufnell Park!’




Deleted Scene 4.




‘Yeah! I so know what you mean!’ said Holly. ‘Like, the other day, I was on my way to work when I saw this girl riding past on her bike, pulling a wheelie bag along with it on the ground, while she was riding. It looked so awkward and cumbersome, but she was smiling away, so somehow, she pulled it off! And I just thought, that’s awesome! And I laughed out loud with her, she caught my eye and smiled as if to say yeah, why not… and I got my phone out to ring Lawry and tell him, and then I remembered.’



Deleted Scene 5.




‘Well at least you’re not being E-persecuted,’ said Bella as she poured out some Margaritas to accompany the Mexican themed dinner which Olivia had been preparing. ‘Even Amazon is out to get me these days. Through the medium of ‘past-buyer mailings’, it sends me ‘thoughtful’ suggestions related to every gift I’ve ever bought Sam on there. Which is a lot of things.’

‘I mean, really,’ said Holly. ‘What really gets me is when Facebook sends me ‘friend suggestions’ – you know this person and this person ­– ‘why not add Lawrence Edward Hill as a friend’?

‘You’re kidding? I wish FB would F OFF, sometimes!’ yelled Bella, drinking her Margarita like water.




Deleted Scene 6.


“Admin Error”


‘OK…well, you’re going to think I’m pathetic beyond belief, but… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Mr Film Buff… So I did a very sad thing. I searched through the ‘groups’ on Facebook around the Hackney and Dalston area, and it turns out there is actually a group for the ‘The Film Shop’ on Broadway Market.’

‘Oh B, you’re actually ill,’ said Holly.

‘And guess who the Admin of the group is? ADAM! His name is Adam! And it’s him! How mad is that! So I’ve added him as a friend.’

‘You really must stop spoiling the surprise about all your prospects!’ reprimanded Harry. ‘Stop stalking them – I bet you know all about his life now don’t you? Also, is he not going to wonder how on earth you found him?’

Bella looked a little worried, as though she’d not quite thought of that. ‘It’s fine. He’ll probably just ignore my friend request anyway.’

‘You can find ANYONE these days,’ said Olivia. ‘Even if they don’t want to be found.’



Deleted Scene 7.


“Blue Cheese”


An hour later, Harry came into the kitchen to see her lying on the sofa, an empty packet of Cheddars at her feet. She opened her eyes to see distinct disappointment on his face.

‘Holly, beautiful girl. I don’t think you’re getting on that well without BUC, are you? This compulsive dating certainly isn’t helping. And neither is all this late-night bingeing.’

‘Yes,’ she said as he sat down next to her.

‘Cheese isn’t going to fill the hole, Hol. Temporarily, yes. But not long-term,’ he said slowly, as though it was an ancient Sanskrit proverb. ‘Neither are cheese-ball men, come to think of it.’

‘You’re right,’ she said, mulling over each word, marvelling at his

profound wisdom.

She hugged Harry as they both looked out the window over Fortess Road. ‘Jesus Harry, is this a break up, or a quarter-life-sodding-crisis?’

Harry laughed and squeezed her hand. ‘Come here,’ he said, folding her into his arms, as her hot tears slipped down her cheeks and into his hair.