Paraphrasing the Bard.

For somebody like me who relies heavily on instinct, it’s a bit of a bugger when it won’t tell you what you want to know:

To e-mail or not to e-mail

That is the question.

Whether it is nobler in the mind

To suffer the slings and arrows of slaps from volatile Philadelphians

Or, by opposing, expect another round

Because she now regards you as being marginally inferior

To a pile of dingo’s kidneys.

He knew a thing or two about women, did Will.

And making light of issues such as these is a classic displacement device, which is a fancy term for ‘cheating.’ The problem is, she will insist on peering through the window just when I’m in the process of consulting Mr Instinct. And it’s so nice to see her there...