There's a first time for everything, or so it is said.

After - what is it? - 14 billion years of the universe's existence, I parhaps had begun to doubt the mathematics. I thought that believing such a cliche owed more to romance than to logic.

But then the mathematical side, the right side of my brain steps in. 'We've abandoned the mechanistic model of the universe years ago' it chides. (Although I do like a good generalisation, it appears as we progress down the neuro research path that the differences in hemispheres in relation to maths are more along the lines of 'left brain = exact computation, right brain equals approximate calculation'. It seems that the more you look at something, the more questions are raised).

"It's all quantum, baby!". Down at that indeterminate level, where reality is just another concept, where foam and fluff intermingle with gluons and quarks, then it's really Wizard of Oz time. Anything does go. And, perhaps, much to the delight of a gallant line of authors stretching back through the centuries, to imagine something, is really to make it happen.

All those childhood fairy tales. Genies appearing at the rub of a lamp, handing out instant gratification to a generation that was not already sated by and expectant of immediate need satifaction.

So perhaps there's a first time for everything, and this is certainly the first time I have written an entry at the request of a 'reader'. I use the term 'reader' advisedly. I remember the film of the same name a couple of years ago and took from that a lingering wariness of anyone who falls under the 'Reader' banner.

Nonetheless (a great word for one who wants to waffle), there is truly a human out there who has read more than one of my 'postings'. Tonight Sim and I ran into him over at a friend's house. A friend we regularly visit. Now it's funny, sort of - I remember this chapper from his youth, and he was angry then - punching holes in the walls of 24 was such an incident I recall from his days.

Of course, memory is a mean mistress, and he may well point out quite truthfully that he never damaged a single pane of fibro in that house.

Nonetheless (!), I associate him with damaging walls - that much is true. And get this - he is currently sporting a shiner, an eightball, a black eye. How did he receive this ocular modification? He walked into a wall!

Walls wait, they bide their time. You think they're just standing there, holding up the roof and your tattered Nick Cave posters? No! They're keeping a list of every bump, every scratch, every defacing. Beware, they do not forget, and they pass on tales of their injustices to their corner-siblings, through the underground sewer network (using a patented pine-knot binary telegraph system), onto fellow supporting and non-supporting walls...and they get revenge, eventually. Just ask this lad, he will verify every word.

Anyway, I digress. As we left, that lad called out something along the lines of "I'm glad you're still together". Sim was perplexed at this and asked me why he would say such a thing. I pointed out that he'd been reading my cyber text in a haphazard fashion, and as he may not have fully digested the entire picture that is spread across the hundred or so puzzle pieces of my entries, so it was just possible he may have formed a precipitous view of her and my relationship.

From this she took her usual view:

"You just slag me off and speak bullshit about me, and I hate that it's out there in the public."

Did I not say 'precipitous view'?

I could have pointed out that this recent reader was possibly the only person ever to have read more than one page, that after installing a Comments application I had received just one legitimate comment (from a former room-mate), although several thousand attempts at comments by purveyors of watches and sex-aids had been foiled by the CAPTCHA (that squiggly selection of letters in crude handwriting that is the most successful system of separating man from machine to date.)

I like to think that the real Terminator movie would have not german shepherds guarding every human bunker entrance, but rather a large sign in CAPTCHA font saying "Speak Friend and Enter".

But I don't make the movies, Hollywood does.

I did not respond in such a manner to gal. I told her that I think I have not lied about here ever on the site, and that if she can find evidence of any untruths I would immediately remove them. I pointed out that she could not really comment on a site she had not looked at for several years.

She remained angry and pissed off, and was little improved when I left her flat after dinner an hour ago.

The question remains, as ever, should I dive wholeheartedly into a relationship with a woman who has left some pretty important relationship topics unanswered or untreated, or should I ignore human caution and abandon myself to her?

Maybe I should put it like that to her. She is a wonderful woman, as much as I hate that adjective. She is strong and funny and terse and sarcastic in all the places I like. Her tastes in music and art follow roughly the same path as mine (we both like The Drones) but have enough deviations (she's a HUGE Kings of Leon fan, and she has not embraced Spencer Krug as I have) to differentiate her as a uniquely appreciative individual.

I am realist enough to admit I would be unlikely to ever find someone who could both put up with my gabo-usage and perpetual brokeness, as well as someone who would gracefully accompany me on foolhardy missions to Vietnam and other Asian subcontinents at short notice.

Watson to my Holmes sounds a bit strong, a bit weird, but feels right. Yes, it's true, I'd like to have a bit of non-Holmes-Watsonian jiggy-jiggy, but who ever gets what they want...

So in answer to his shout out from the dark balcony,

"Yes I am also glad we're still together". Thirteen years ago it was, in August that we started gazing into each other's eyes, and I hope to gaze a lot longer yet.

Oh - and my Wares by Rudy Rucker turned up at my parents' calm domain on Monday morning - just seven months from order to delivery - big thanks to Barnes & Noble for finally coming through despite perhaps the most disorganised customer service centre I (well, really my dad) have ever dealt with.