After your Mum dies and your fiancee leaves you in the same year, you believe you will catch a break. Or that stuff would just back the fuck off. It was 2003 and I was not getting any - karma or otherwise.

I decided to send my wedding dress off to Brides Against Breast Cancer in the hope the dress would get a new home and raise money for cancer research. The engagement ring was taken to a pawn shop and I spent the money with Tania the Fabulous in Paris.

He bought my share of the apartment we owned together and she moved in the day I moved out, said a neighbour. I saw her once. He had sent me an irate email about the 'theft' of a kettle and some kitchen items, so I had to return them. As I drove away from my ex apartment, I saw her by the window arranging flowers in a vase. I remember thinking good luck with that one because my presence will be all over that place like Banquo's Ghost.

Well I had to think something. And Shakespeare it was going to be.

Then I took my sad arse off to India to see the wonderful Miss A. The fog started to shift, but I was still a freaking nightmare to be around. You know those people who vomit their troubles on to others? I was one of them. I did, however, have lots to complain about what he had done before the affair was revealed.

As long as I live I will never forget one night when he did not come home until after 5am. I remember trying to call his mobile over and over and it was always off. I was beside myself with worry. Knowing that he had started hanging around some seedy pubs, I called all the hospitals in Newcastle to see if he had been admitted. They had no record of him. I tried to sleep but I tossed and turned. I was so anxious I put on a coat and sat outside on our front fence waiting for him to pull up in a taxi.

I must have waited for hours until I decided to go upstairs and get my car keys to go and look for him. By now I was in a blind panic and I had images of Nick lying beaten in a gutter somewhere. I went inside and grabbed my keys and started walking down the stairs. Suddenly, Nick emerged.

I was overcome with relief and anger.

“Where have you been – I thought you were dead,” I asked.

“I have been watching the rugby with the boys, and I got so drunk I got lost walking home,” he said.

“Was Shelley with you,” I said. He shook his head.

“Well why in the bloody hell did you not call me to let me know you were going to be late. I thought you were dead and I called all the hospitals to see if you had been admitted to emergency,” I said.

“You are so like your mother, you worry all the time,” he said.

“That’s nice bring my dead mother into it – why don’t you,” I yelled.

“I am sorry, I think I am an alcoholic, I don’t know what is wrong with me because I love you. Please come to bed and hold me – I need you now,” he said.

Nick was crying now. I had only seen him cry twice before – once when my Mum died and the other time was when I tried to make him eat Indian food. He had what I called a foodaphobia and would only eat steak and three veg and the occasional pizza.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you are not an alcoholic, you are just freaking out about the wedding,” I said. We went to bed and held on to each other for dear life.

We now all know he was playing one of his little games. He enjoyed tormenting me. Which is why I feel zero guilt when I reveal I cleaned the toilet with his toothbrush.

That's karma baby. He got his, I got a round-the-world trip and my life back.

I also learnt a valuable lesson. No matter how much you polish a turd, you can not make it glitter.