A girl knows that the end is nigh for a relationship when that special someone says: ‘we need to talk’ or ‘you just don’t know how I feel’. So, what can a lady do when the cards are called on a grand passion? Well, you can either stay at home, living out old memories, super glued to the couch surviving on a diet of Jodie Foster movies and Sarah McLaughlin melancholy; or you can get your arse in gear, crash the scene, have a laugh and forget all about those break up blues.

Now, as much as every lesbian loves broken hearted ladies and Little Man Tate dramatics, the best thing to do is to get your booty out and about. This is a time to drink far too much booze and pull a few women of dubious repute.

If you want to meet like minded, scene queen lezzers then have a butchers at the message boards on www.gingerbeer.co.uk and go along to their regular meet ups that take place in London and across the country.

If that doesn’t take your fancy get your buddies together and get completely trashed with like-minded lasses: for Ms Lonely Heart in London you can’t argue with the Candy Bar, or if you’re feeling refined why not try the sumptious members lounge Southopia; if you’re bored in Brighton try the Marlborough; for the vivacious vixen there’s always Vanilla in Manchester’s gay village. Check out the gay section on here and find out where you’ll find the best catches.

Still, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that you, the newly single lesbian, will be in a crowded bar, in a sprawling metropolis such as London and still you’ll bump into that bitter old ex from many moons ago. The one who cut off a leg of each of your tights. The conversation will revolve around familiar lines: you’ll discuss the Cat Protection League feline you loved yet constantly fought over, and the unreturned biography of Dusty Springfield that was borrowed in a moment of madness. Do not sleep with her.

Throughout it all, my friend, remember this, if only to retain that smidge of pride left over from your traumatic split: never drink and dial. Keep a responsible Designated Dialler with you at all times to ensure that after your eighth drink you’re not found slumped in the toilet with your mobile in your hand telling your ex that you still love her/never loved her anyway/love whoever happens to be next to you in the queue for the toilet.

Believe us. It happens.

Above all – just get out there and have fun. They weren’t worth it anyway.

Racheal Peacock