Date: 9 May 2015.

Location: Number 17 bus, to London Bridge, to Borough Markets, to meet an old friend and a new character for you. We’ll discuss her later. I’m actually finding this hard to type as the bus is taking me into areas of London I haven’t yet seen — Fleet Street, Old Bailey — and so I keep catching myself gazing out the window with my lips in an ‘O’ of pleasant, touristy surprise.

Monday afternoon, a bank holiday. It’s pouring with rain and the window in my bedroom is open to let out warm air and let in splashes of cold water. We’ve ordered Indian take-away and are waiting.

“Hopeless romantic!”

“Yeah. No. That’s not what it says,” he corrects.

“Oh.” I re-read the webpage displayed on my iPad and my tone changes. “Hopeless in romantic situations?”

“Seems about right.”

I whack him with a pillow. “Insensitive!” I accuse, jabbing a finger back at the iPad screen.

“Direct!”

We’ve been talking Meyrs-Briggs personality types. Because of course that’s what you do lazing about with a boy in your bedroom on a rainy afternoon.

It’s impossible to truly categorise every human into one of sixteen boxes. But Myers-Briggs does a pretty spectacular job, a great deal better than the signs of the zodiac say. Reading your type summary can feel almost eerily intrusive, as if someone has laid your flaws and assets bare for all to see.

I’m an INTJ, the lonely ‘Architect’ (or evil ‘Mastermind’) personality type. The type that spends a great deal of time in their own minds, values order above almost everything and eschew chaos and schmaltzy affection. The intellectual snob. The lazy communicator. The aloof ice queen. This is my default state, though I defrost around those I love.

We’ve established that he’s the outgoing straight-shooter, high risk, plain-speaking direct and insensitive ‘Doer’ personality type, an ESTP. Our personalities are almost diametrically posed, facing off from far sides of the grid. However, like me, he thinks with his head and not his heart (we’re both ‘Ts’) and I think that’s one of the things I like about him. Every once in a while I find his boyish messiness annoying or his Australian laziness frustrating, and then he’ll go and say something stunningly insightful and the crush comes back.

So, yes, things are actually going ok with The Journalist. I know, look at me — actually dating a boy instead of crushing from afar as me makes me flat whites. We’ve come a long way, baby.

Love

Alex

Also, If you haven’t yet taken a Myers-Briggs test I highly encourage you to.

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