People have imagined many uses for cloning in their love lives. Well, variations on one use that involve different numbers of people. But this one may be new.

Problem: A guy has a girlfriend (option A). He isn't sure whether the relationship will last because she hasn't told him how she feels about him. He has an ex-girlfriend (option B). Who he may still be in love with and who has recently told him still has feelings for him. He has also never been single long enough to get over over a relationship (option C).

So I propose an experiment. Clone him. Clone A stays with the girlfriend. Clone B gets back with the ex. Clone C gets single. At the end of the year the clones all get measured on Dave C's happiness scale, and he replaces whichever is happiest. The clones obviously get shot. And one or two girls get heartbroken. Or happy. Depends how it goes. Maybe if the relationship(s) go(es) really badly the girl(s) get(s) to shoot the clones.

Obviously they'd all have to live apart, otherwise the girls and everyone they know would get confused. And all existing friends would not be able to be contacted/or at least could not know about his relationship status. So there may be a few variables. Unless we can find a third place identical to both Swindon and Disneyland Paris. And the second paragraph may make it difficult to get this past an actual ethics committee. But I'm pretty sure shooting your own clone isn't illegal. They don't have birth certificates for clones so they probably can't have death certificates either. And without a death certificate I don't think anyone has legally died. So you could probably kill as many clones as you want. Which is probably why the good guys could wipe out an entire army in Star Wars and still be the good guys. They didn't technically kill anyone because it was an army made of clones. Murdering people not born of woman is fine. Just ask Macbeth. (Yes, we're assuming they're emerging fully-formed from a cloning machine and not made using eggs and grown in a womb. Because then we'd have to wait for them to age and this experiment would be useless and make no sense. Obviously.)


This reminds me of the response I'm working on for when my Gran starts the 'your mother had had you by the time she was your age', 'when are you going to make me a great-grandmother?', 'aren't you pregnant yet?' bit this Christmas. It started with "I can't remember to feed myself. And I am yet to have something really, really important that I haven't lost or at least misplaced for a significant period of time. I have literally never had an umbrella I haven't left somewhere. And killing a child through neglect is illegal, even if it's through sheer incompetence rather than intentional neglect. And I don't think I can finish my Masters if I'm in prison."

However this is where my argument falls down. Yes, I would be kicked off my current Masters course if I get sent to prison for accidentally causing my own child's death by losing it somewhere between my lectures and a pub. But then if I were in prison the government would probably fund another Masters course and a PhD. So really at the moment my best bet to get PhD funding might be to commit accidental infanticide. But then if I have a child because I know I'm incapable of keeping a plant alive for more than 6 weeks and have never managed to keep sea-monkeys for more than a week and therefore it's likely to die and provide me with a free PhD, then it's more intentional accidental infanticide. Which would make me even more of a bad person than the fact that this is actually something that I've properly thought through in my head, even if I'm too scared of having a human being come out of my vagina to actually go through with it. Plus it would completely put an end to my diet. And I want to sort my abs out before I get pregnant in the very, very distant future as it apparently makes it easier to get your figure back, since if you have a core as weak as mine at the start of pregnancy it's essentially going to mess up your muscles and you'll never get decent abs.

Yes, this is the problem with funding my PhD through infanticide; it would completely screw up my abs. I hope to Darwin there's no hell.

Does anyone know where I can find Will Smith or a photo of his penis?

People have been telling me to start a blog for years. Well actually people have been telling me to write a book for years, but I keep telling them I don't have the time. A friend offered to write a book based on my life, she was going to call it The Misadventures of Gladys the Welsh Cleaner so that I couldn't be identified, but crazy shit keeps happening around me so it's turned into a bit of an actual Neverending Story. So recently the calls of 'Write, bitch, write!' have been focused on me having a blog. The aim is for it to be anonymous, so some of the stories may end up making no sense whatsoever once the details have been taken out, but we'll see how it goes.

Unfortunately as I haven't had time to write my life story yet it's obviously not going to happen in one night, so I thought I'd start off with the texts I've sent (and some that I've received) this week and those that are related to situations that have been happening this week. The plan is that eventually I'll get everything up here if I post bits and pieces from my life when I get a spare minute. Like the time I was pulled out of a window by a Portuguese guy with an Irish accent and had to hide my shoes in Dodgy Dave's. Or the time I hid in a bush from ETA terrorists and left my friend a voice mail whilst trying to find enough balls to walk through the camp like I was supposed to be there. Or the time a Buddist saved my life because earlier in the day I thought that if he was a mad serial killer he'd put so much effort in with the outfit & 'save the planet' stickers on his van that he deserved to get me. But due to this week's events, this post is going to make me sound more like Gladys the Slut of Unknown Nationality. I promise it's not all about my sex life. In fact this pretty much covers the entirety of my sex life. Unless my stalkers count. Or the millionaire my friends tried to convince me to have unprotected sex with so that the contents of my womb would pay for a PhD (since he's anti-abortion). More on the 6/7 of them eventually.

Also, -> is me sending, <- is the replies. All names have been changed to protect the innocent (IE my negative bank balance).


The First-ever-boyfriend-recently-turned-first-ever-ex-boyfriend Saga

->He asked me if I'd like another orgasm & all I could think was 'yes, but I'm pretty sure I haven't had one yet'.

->Well I was too drunk to make it up the stairs myself & I decided it didn't mean I had to have sex with him.

->It's Paul! Thank God for Facebook letting me know who was sucking my clit last night!

->I had toast for breakfast. In other news Paul's finally made an appointment to get an STI check.

->Yep, he's dumped me. Via text. Right after I lost my virginity to him. He's been saying for weeks "If this is what the foreplay's like I can't wait to find out what the sex is like." Apparently the answer is "Disappointing".

->Well I thought 'noone's going to see me naked for a while' so I threw myself off the Slimming World bandwagon & shot myself a few times on the way down. There is method in my major-chocolate-ice-cream-consumption.

->We were in the pub after training and Laura suddenly realised she'd left the treasury box unattended. I said to her that some clubs have rules about having club money on you, such as 'you have to be in twos' so she wouldn't be able to walk home alone. She said that was a bit extreme, so I told her about the time I was walking the treasury box around the corner, so just had it in my hands and was alone, when a guy came up to me & started groping my breasts. James asked if I'd slapped him & I said "No, I needed both hands to keep the treasury box covered". James said "So you sacrificed your breasts for the treasury box. Does Paul know about this?" then turned to him & asked him about it. James started saying he should track him down & sort him out. I think he was the only person at the table that didn't know that I missed training last week because Paul dumped me that day or at least that we'd broken up. Everyone felt too awkward to tell him. There were awkward turtle babies flooding my brain.

 ->The MRI scan letter is asking me if there's a possibility that I might be pregnant. Well there is, it's just a very very low probability, so do I answer yes or no? Why can't they ask 'Is there more than a 4.9% probability that you are pregnant? Or whatever percentage is significant to them? I'm a social scientist, Jim, not a biologist. I don't know what's significant for wombs.

->The last song came on & I thought 'if I don't say something now then we're never getting back together', so I asked Paul if he was still happy with his decision & he said yes. So I cried on Laura, who got one of the freshers on the team to walk me home. He kept saying "I met you my first night in Uni, it's like it's fate" but I was too busy with my extremely attractive sobbing to respond. So he put me to bed & stroked my hair while I cried, then got under the sheets and started touching me up. He then started saying "I'm so hard" and wanking with his other hand down my pants, which made me cry harder from missing Paul. I missed him even more when the fresher started snoring, but not as loud as Paul does. This may be the definition of pathetic.

->To-do-list for this week as of 6pm Thursday: Get out of fancy dress costume from last night. Remove last night's make-up. Shower. Have breakfast. Pull a less-drunk, but unfortunately more fun all-nighter on my assignment (and not be sure if it's more fun because of last night's events or my sadly extreme excitement at analysing the results of this survey using SPSS). Hopefully finish in time for breakfast before practical. Attend practical. Hand in assignment. Go for a swim. Go for MRI scan. Get drunk with Ruth. Go to classical music concert. Get drunker with Ruth. Sleep. Get up for free personal training session that a hot guy at the gym offered me. Not end up crying with his hand down my pants. Get drunk with Alfred. The rest of the week involves various kinds of work, pretending to be normal, and trying to lose 3lbs to have lost 10% of my body weight between starting the diet 7 weeks ago & Christmas.

->I'm not sure if 'not end up crying with a hand down my pants' is something that should be on every woman's to-do-list or if it should never have to go anywhere near anyone's to-do-list, ever.

->I have extreme mixed feelings about my upcoming period. 1) I had to re-arrange my STI test to Monday & if it does turn up on Saturday then that's going to have to be put off until after Christmas. 2) I want to lose 3lbs this week & my period tends to lessen my weight loss. 3) If it doesn't come until Wednesday so that it fits in with my diet timetable then I will have spent a fortune in pregnancy tests and may as well have paid for lipo.

->Not pregnant! Thank God my womb is more punctual than I am!
<-Congratulations on your period!
[I want one of these texts every month]


My life in general

->The hot guy at the gym has a girlfriend.
<-I see. Kidnap her!
->Kidnap the girlfriend? Wouldn't it make more sense to kidnap the guy? He's the one I'd prefer to have tied up in my bedroom.
<-Yeah. But then she'd be out of the way.
->No, she'd be tied up in my bedroom. How am I supposed to seduce the guy with his ex tied up in the corner?
<-Not in your bedroom. In a hole.
->I don't know of any holes that aren't likely to get found by a jogger or a farmer. Or get filled with snow. This is starting to become a murder plan. Do you think I could just obliviate the two of them?
<-That's ridiculous.
->Ok, what if I get Will Smith to flash the two of them?
<-Why?!
->To wipe their memories of each other? Have you ever seen Men In Black? A black guy flashes you and you forget white penis ever existed. Or something like that. Maybe he just flashes her then. I don't want him getting a fetish for black men because I don't think I'm either. Then I could offer him a shoulder to cry on. But not tell him "I'm hard" & start wanking when he's crying, I think this week has proven that doesn't get a crying person to want to have sex with you. Although maybe it would work on a guy. With an "I'm wet" obviously otherwise it might cause confusion. I could say "hard" & be referring to my nipples to make this an actual, proper scientific experiment to see if it's more likely to work on guys than girls. Or would scientific experiments need strap-ons?

->I just used a Star Wars analogy to explain a Celtic legend. The cure for geekiness is too late for me now.

->This guy in the shop was talking to everyone, which I was on board with until he was rude about me when talking to someone else in the queue so I ignored him from then on. Then when I opened my handbag to pay he looked inside, turned to the person behind him, and said "She has a police woman's hat in her bag. It's for the bedroom. It's on a headband, that's how you can tell." The most insulting thing is if I were to wear it in the bedroom I'd have to stand in front of a mirror for anyone to get any enjoyment out of it.

->Just as I thought I'd done it & wasn't going to have a panic attack, I left the room with the MRI scanner & there was a middle-aged, hairy man sat with his dressing-gown open to his crotch & his legs wide open. He kept asking me how it was, to be honest that was the most traumatic part of the entire thing.