I HAD to force myself to go to the gym last night.

Yes, after four weeks of bounding through the doors with all the enthusiasm of a puppy looking for something to chew, I couldn't really be bothered. I couldn't really be bothered on Monday either, but at least I had a meeting with some people, so I blamed that.

The end of the affair, or just a lovers' tiff?

It's an apt metaphor, actually. I've come to the conclusion that since having joined the ranks of singletons, I've replaced girlfriend-boyfriend stuff with, well, gym stuff.

So instead of cosy nights at the cinema, I've been hammering the cross trainer.

Instead of drinking 'til three with someone who doesn't mind how much of a fool you make of yourself, I've been developing a slightly worrying relationship with the rowing machine (apparently you can get ones where you have to row away from sharks. Can someone please tell me where?).

I see the doors of Total Fitness more often than I see the doors of the pub.

But, feeling somewhat less heartbroken, it's inevitable that I'll be less concerned with my "rebound fling", as it were. N'est ce pas?

They say that being too comfortable will be the death of any relationship.

That's why I've booked in for a review. The weight machines should help get the spark back...