More Virtual Sex And Some All-Too-Real Weightlifting.

I've been like a rabbit in the headlights all day today, despite one short episode of virtual sex with Johnny at lunchtime. That was much more successful than the real McCoy, not to mention that it didn't make me feel half as guilty.

Johnny's not happy with things staying in the realm of fantasy, though. He's still going on and on about when we're next meeting. I can't work him out at all. He was the one who kept insisting that there was to be no commitment, as if it was some sort of mantra.

Now he seems to have forgotten his caution and has plans for us to become like that couple in Same Time Next Year. I don't think I can keep this up for another twenty-three years! There's a limit to how much darkness you can insist upon, especially with someone as accident-prone and short-sighted as Johnny, and even he is bound to notice the chin hairs eventually.

In the evening, Max still isn't really speaking to me, after the Mrs Bloom argument - which is a bit miserable, as I'd quite like to talk to someone vaguely normal, having spent today alone in the office again. I call Connie, but she's doesn't answer her phone.

There's no point in even trying to contact Josh. He's becoming more like a lodger than a son, because he nearly always leaves for work just before I arrive home. (Luckily he's getting more than the guaranteed four hours' work a week at the moment, but all of these seem to be scheduled between the hours of 5:00pm and midnight.)

So there's only one thing for it: a session of maternal Facebook stalking. Connie appears to be doing nothing but playing on Farmville, so she's not up to anything worrying. Unless killing your braincells in an alternative reality counts as worrying. Even if it did, I can hardly criticise, can I? Not after today's virtual shenanigans with Johnny.

I switch my attention to Josh's Facebook page. I wish I hadn't. His latest post is a video clip, entitled, "24 Minutes. Episode One." I press play. Do I never learn?

The scene starts with Josh and Robbie in Robbie's car, driving into Sainsburys' car park. There must be someone else there doing the filming, but I never find out who it is as they never appear in front of the camera.

It's not at all clear what's going on, and there's not much conversation, just a lot of hysterical giggling which, in retrospect, should have served as a warning of what was to follow. I keep watching, though I feel a bit grubby and sneaky about it. (Is this how men feel when they watch porn on the internet?)

The next shot is of Josh and Robbie unloading something very large into a space in the middle of the car park, which seems fairly busy with shoppers. A number of them are filmed looking curiously on as the boys struggle with metal poles and what seems to be a padded, black seat.

The giggling has increased, but there's still no clue as to what the boys are up to, until..... oh, my God. I can't believe my eyes. It's Josh's weights bench. Fully-assembled, and situated smack bang in the middle of Sainsburys' car park.

Bloody Josh is lying on it lifting weights, while Robbie is pretending to be his personal trainer, convincingly attired in jogging bottoms and wielding a stop-watch.

The film stops short after the somewhat unamused approach of a security guard. For God's sake, I'll probably be banned from the store next time I try to do the shopping.

I feel I deserve an immediate explanation, so I text Josh:

"Josh, what the hell were you doing weightlifting in a shoppers' car park?"

I get nothing but a smiley face in reply. Just wait 'til he gets home! I'm surprised that I haven't had any letters from constituents complaining about yobs terrorising local shoppers yet. It can only be a matter of time.