By the time Mr Bastard's penny had dropped, and he was ready to reel off his well-rehearsed lines (I once found them written down on a piece of paper; obviously Mr Bastard was beginning to doubt his memory in terms of what to say to whom...), I was well and truly smitten; Mr Husband Material had lifted me from the dark places I liked to wallow in on a regular basis, and put me on a very polished and pleasantly high pedestal.

It didn't take long to start enjoying the experience of living in a world where the promise of a phone call would be followed by a phone call, and dates had the relaxing atmosphere of events where nobody needed to look at the clock and suddenly feel the urge to leave.

Mr Husband Material was solvent, sensible and sexy. Faced with a weekend away in Scotland and Mr Bastard's weepy plea that he would be severing all ties with Mrs Bastard and be ready to move in, white van full of furniture with engine running at my front door, Miss Emma knew exactly what to do.

Scotland's landscape was fabulously majestic, and we didn't see any of it.

Being rescued from emotional bullying is a gratifying experience, not least for the rescuer. However, I do believe that on the way out of hell, a bit like a modern Persephone, a woman who has been mistreated for long enough might decide to take a seed of despair and eat it, for the sake of old times.

Before long, and regularly forever after, past patterns will have to be reproduced, in order to surround oneself with the comfort of the evil well-known.

No matter how tall the pedestal and beautiful the view from up there, there will always be a masochistic pleasure in falling off it. Perhaps it is the allure of another potential rescue, the promise of repeating a cycle.

However, it is also true that once on that pedestal, it is hard to come down, to stop receiving the adoration and attention one so quickly may get used to. As a professional primadonna, I have resented and begrudged being slowly dragged down from the dizzy heights: it is hard to stay up there, a Nelson-like proud and sexy heroine, when you are witnessed screaming in the labour ward, wearing a soggy t-shirt and five stone more than nine months earlier. Driving a fast sportscar in Gina shoes feels a lifetime away.

Holding on to the pedestal is hard; it is harder still to fall off it. And yet, seeking a new pedestal may spell utter disaster. As the ultimate primadonna, I am attracted to disasters.