The Architect: There was an on/off not-quite quasi-relationship for several months before we decided drunk, casual sex was probably not good for our friendship. Tendency towards herbal teas and tree hugging; Lib Dem aspirations but really a closet Tory. Now married to Gin Operated.
Best Mate: What it says on the tin. Friend of 14 years and was a flatmate for two whilst we were at uni in Edinburgh. Lawyer. Fellow home- and cat-owner. Listens to my moans about life with infinite patience and supplies of chocolate. Helps me shop for shoes. What more does a gal need?
Boy Whose Job In The City I Don’t Fully Understand: A guy who attended the boys’ school down the road, and whom I've known for about 15 years. He’s suddenly out of his blazer, and probably had a large part to plan in the country’s economic downfall. I don’t think I’ll ever understand what he does for a living.
Colin: The cat. Judging by size and the amount of fur he leaves over my white bedlinen, I'd be more inclined to believe he's a semi-domesticated panther with an enormous appetite for cheese.
Curable Romantic: The one friend whose case of terminal romanticism seems less terminal than previously thought, given the rather sensible content and prolific volume of her advice about men and love. We lived together for a year in London, where she kept a sharp ear out for all cases of the sex jeans.
The Cynic: A lawyer friend from school, known for years, who was at law school with Best Mate. Has been known to give exceptionally insightful, if cynical, advice about men and how to deal with them.
Foreign Correspondent: A journalist working in the foreign affairs team for a major news outlet. He buys me champagne and gives me sage advice about life. Unsurprising, then, that I think he’s wonderful.
Gin Operated: Adorable wife of The Architect, thus one half of an indispensable couple. We share a deep love of gin, Earl Grey and all things Le Creuset.
Guards Man: A wonderful Army officer I met at his Very Smart Regiment’s summer party, August 2009. We never did manage to coordinate our diaries successfully enough to schedule a date. A recipient of care packages whilst he spent some time in one of the world’s War Zones. Back in London, but wishing he was somewhere more exciting.
Hot Flyer Boy: A rather hot specimen of maledom who spent the 2006 Edinburgh festival handing out flyers and propping up the bar I was working at. Oh, and flirting. Lived just down the road from me in London. We spend a lot of time in bars in the West End getting drunk and bemoaning the craziness of women and the uselessness of men.
JournoGal: A gal pal, currently working at a large news outlet, who’s currently proving herself to be indispensable in all matters of things important; namely, drinking gin and talking about boys.
Liver Bird: My Liverpudlian ex-colleague at Small but Perfectly Formed Agency. Sweet, if a little tightly-wound.
Long-Term Ex: The only serious, long-term relationship prior to my meeting The Writer. Doctor, who is apparently incapable of deciding on a specialty. Pretty grand, all things considered. He broke my heart when we split up, and confused me all over again when he professed love at New Year 06/07. We see each other every few years at mutual friends' weddings; his mother sends me Christmas presents.
The Medic: An alarmingly eccentric doctor with a fiancee, a penchant for outrageous behaviour and an inability to keep his hands off Best Mate, which came to an... ahem... climax at New Year '06/'07.
The Metrosexual: One of my closest friends, whom I desperately adore. Now living in London, putting his Philosophy degree to good use by being between acting jobs. Good-looking; well-dressed; witty; tactile; an in-depth knowledge of all things Sex and the City. Has more bottles of hair product than I own pairs of shoes. Straight. Apparently.
Military Gal: A school-friend with whom I rekindled contact several months ago, proving Facebook has at least one use. Currently an Army officer, just back from a tour in War Zone.
Minor Celebrity: A well-known personality I met in a trendy Edinburgh bar, with whom I had a dalliance of several months, '06/'07. Its ending was as peculiar and explosive as the rest of the relationship. The constant complimentary champagne was great; the temper, coke habit and fear of appearing in heat were less so. A forgotten fight (on his part) leant to a reconciliation via phone before he took off travelling for a few months. Now on good terms, given that I don’t have to veto his silly ideas and behaviours.
The Northerner: A sweet guy I dated for a few months during the latter part of 2010. I forced myself to see past his bizarre attachment to horrendous manjewellery, only to be confronted with his apparent preference for accountancy exam revision to spending time with me.
Nutty Cow: Wine-drinking, rugby-playing fellow bloggeress. See here for all the information you might need.
Old Friend: Long-Term Ex’s best friend: was living and studying in Edinburgh whilst I was and is now doing an MBA in London. No sensible taste in sensible women. Knows far too much about me thanks to the wagging tongues of boys who once shared a boarding house. I need to keep him on side.
PolitiGal: A fully paid up member of the political classes; utterly fabulous for advice, good food and cocktails.
The Redhead: A recent acquisition of Social Circle Blonde, and one whom I wouldn’t be without. A writer with outstanding capacity for all things red wine, pudding and Jilly Cooper.
Rugged Scotsman: A rugby-playing, Aberdonian Scottish banker who took me out on three very agreeable, if chaste, dates. My offence at not being kissed turned to bemusement when I found out he was gay. Did things not go further because he was gay, or did he work out he was gay having dated me? Erk.
Speckled Lad: Tall, handsome, freckled, with some rather elastic ideas about the concept of fidelity. Met early in our university career, flirted on and off for years, with intermittent sex along the way. Now one of my stalwart friends, in the Army and currently in War Zone and enjoying it. A screw clearly loose.
Sports Nut: A fellow PR whose knowledge of, and access to, this blog made our initial date rather intimidating. There were a few whirlwind weeks at the beginning of 2010 before it came to an end when he had a call from his ex, wanting to “give things another go”.
The Writer: A talented journalist to whom I was introduced by a mutual friend, who suggested we go for drinks as we’d “get on well”. So well, it turned out, that our first date lasted three days. The boyfriend, with whom I'm cohabiting; nauseatingly happy; and utterly, crashingly in love.