Things l now know.

It has been a while since l last wrote a blog post. It was under another name, in what feels like another life. I shall spare you the gruesome, gut wrenching details, safe to say that the episode in question shall simply be known as 'The Heartbreak'.

A positive event then, and l could ramble on in some life affirming, pump your fist in the air, 'my cancer is cured and l want to make sweet love to every flower l happen upon' type of way. Unfortunately, all that malarkey makes me want to regurgitate my chicken chow mein and form a model of Dante's seventh circle of hell. No, the hours l have spent piecing myself back together are worthy of Humpty Dumpty himself, and have taught me only one thing: basic survival. Therefore, as the Ray Mears of broken hearts, l am about to selflessly share a few tips that may help you through, should you end up in a similar, unfortunate, and unexpected situation.

1.) I am not one for promoting binge drinking as such, but you will need alcohol. In excessive amounts. You will dance into oblivion and sink into a sweet sleep. You will imagine yourself as Grace Kelly amidst adoring suitors. You will be numbed from the heartache and sit on kerb sides stealing strangers' kebabs at 3am. You will rediscover the laughter you thought had been erased from your bank of emotions. It will feel fantastic. But you must be prepared for the feelings of self loathing the next morning, as you peel yourself off a random bathroom floor with one shoe missing completely and the other sailing on a sea of vomit in the toilet bowl, whilst you clutch a cone to your chest on which you have drawn a remarkable (in its abstract qualities) likeness to your ex.

2.) You will need a soundtrack to your pain. You won't be able to listen to any of the music you already own as it will most likely provoke unwanted and rather torturous memories of happier times. So you will find songs that sum up your current emotional state succinctly, listen to them/sing along to them endlessly until someone around you has the sense to misplace the CD and your I-pod in the recycling bin. Under the dead cat and mouldering teabags.

3.) Take up a violent sport. Squash, hockey, rugby, it doesn't matter which. I took up rugby. The reasons are threefold: firstly, the adrenalin and fear of having your body crushed by another human being who is frankly the size and weight of an iron water tank instantly outweigh any other concerns your brain might be occupied with; secondly, the inevitable physical pain of broken bones means that although you are still crying into your breakfast first thing in the morning, it is lessened by the screams of pain you utter as you attempt to scoop soggy Weetabix into your mouth with shattered fingers; and thirdly, the amount of drugs thrust into your arms by the ladies of the NHS to relieve the afore mentioned pain also induce a peaceful sleep, free from the anxiety dreams of attacking your former lover with a dustbin lid and a vacuum cleaner in a quite inappropriate, yet strangely satisfying, manner.

4.) In your vulnerable and tear stained state, it might seems callous to utter the words 'Internet Dating', but l heartily recommend it as therapy. It is a quick fix solution to one's otherwise battered and bruised ego. You can flirt shamelessly via email, and the second party does not need to know that at that precise moment you are sobbing along to 'Mumford and Sons' (or whatever your music choice), wearing your ex's hoodie (still trying to locate his 'smell' in the armpits) and chocolate stained jogging bottoms, sipping lukewarm cup-a-soup as you have lost all will to live like a human being and not as an animal. You are not interested, of course, but  the attention will DO YOU GOOD, as my mother used to say about liver and onions. If you do it well, you may even get a free meal and/or trip to the cinema to boot. Then you can delete the emails and start all over again with a new victim. Mercenary? Most definitely. But curative nonetheless.

5.) My final tip is to throw yourself into an addiction to trash television. There is plenty to choose from: Strictly Come Dancing, X -Factor, One Tree Hill, Desperate Housewives, Glee, Waterloo Road, Skins, This way is Essex, Gossip Girl. The list is endless. You need it. It will rot your brain but the desire to escape the seeming mire of your own life can only be satisfied vicariously through the mewlings of Cheryl Cole and Simon Cowell as they bitch fight about Cher's ability to give blowjobs to the floor staff. If nothing else, it will give you something to distract the supermarket checkout staff with as they insist on commenting on the food in your basket. "Chocolate. Wine. Crisps. Tissues. DVD. Broken Heart is it?".

Indeed it is, my dear, indeed it is.