In The Hands of the Gods

I've got this strange feeling that I’m being toyed with by the Gods and, as with Jason and his hearty band of Argonauts, I’m on a chessboard being overlooked by Zeus and the rest of the Gods on mount Olympus in their attempts to thwart me at every possible move.

But, unlike Jason, I’m not sure if any of the Gods are on my side – even Aphrodite. Fortunately though, there doesn’t appear to be an army of skeletons that needs defeating – although if you give some of the old blokes down my local pub a sword and a shield then I might be in a spot of trouble.

But, call it fate, fortune or just straight good old fashioned luck, my Match.com friend who opted for another was recently stood up by said "other" for no apparent reason. No calls, e-mails or letters. Nothing. Naturally, she was a little upset by this, but after much chatting on the phone and MSN (and managing to hopefully overcome her distance concerns) we arranged to meet up again somewhere near – if only to prove that I could, and would, be able to manage to see to see her.

However, my plans were thwarted yet again – but this time not by another man – but a humble, but equally scheming, microbe. Yeap, when I spoke to her yesterday to confirm what we were doing she was coughing, sniffing and sneezing down the phone and sounding positively rotten. As a result, the meeting is off and she’s taken to her bed. I guess she’s not ready for the sympathetic brow dabbing yet.

So, my fate is yet again placed in the hands of the Gods and if I can only hold her hand or kiss her lips by fighting off an army of skeletons or beheading a Minotaur then so be it. Bring it on...