It's our second tacitly appointed weekly evening together tomorrow. Already, pre-emptively, I'm growing defensively dismissive. I'm a fool when infatuated. It doesn't bring out the best in me. Quite the opposite. In today's tarot reading, despite asking specifically, love didn't remotely feature. Instead I was shown the glowing future of an adventurer, a man of passion in imagination, not romance. I can accept that. Peter Pan never got married. He never settled down with Wendy and had a mortgage and three kids. Peter had adventures, everyday, and didn't stop until the day he didn't die.

But peter was never alone.