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Our new helper Eve starts with us today. She’s a lovely, smiley lady, and we’re expecting great things. We signed the papers for her to become our employee on Friday, but until we have official approval, we were told she had to stay at a “boarding house.” All weekend I’ve been getting texts from Eve about the three nights of misery she’s had to endure, saying the experience is like being in prison. The “boarding house” is someone’s home, and the girls – there were about nine of them staying there – had to sleep in the laundry, with no pillows, no mattresses and no fans. Additionally, when the lady of the house needed to do the washing, they had to stay in that hot, sweaty room and get even hotter and sweatier. For dinner, they were given sardines, and they were locked in and not allowed to leave. This is the sort of thing that really makes me go grrrrrrrr, so today when we collect Eve, I can promise you that the agency using this woman to board their girls is certainly going to get a tongue lashing. I mean, is it really that hard to treat people with a little dignity? I appreciate that things are done very differently in different parts of the world, I really do, and I also understand that I do not fully appreciate all of the aspects involved, but please, give the girls a bloody bed, pillow, fan and something nourishing to eat. They’re paying $10 a night for the privilege, so a little bit of comfort should be a minimum. Sometimes I wonder why cows getting slaughtered in Indonesia gains more coverage (and outrage) than people being treated like shit. And this case is nothing compared to some of the horrendous situations human beings are enduring all over the world! Yours, Without the Bollocks Andrea

What can I say – it’s been a weird and very emotional week. Knowing that someone I love has suffered such a huge and devastating loss while there is little I can do, is not an easy thing to accept. When you feel this way, you wander through the world, not really part of it. Anyone who has experienced grief – or been close to it as is my case this week – knows what I mean. When you feel like this, any bitching, moaning, judgement, etc.. is even more unwelcome than usual, because when you hear it, you want to shake that person and say, how can you complain? How can you judge? Don’t you know what happened this week? But we are all wrapped up in our own lives and often so busy, we get consumed and often don’t spend time thinking of others. We all have our own problems to deal with and one of the life lessons I’ve learned on this journey is this – all problems are relevant to the person experiencing them. They may not be as big as some are suffering, but they are still relevant. I came to this epiphany when I’ve felt guilty about moaning about my own lot, because I have seen human suffering on a scale that’s blown my mind – yet I haven’t even seen the worst this world has to offer, like the camps in Darfur. But my problems and concerns are relevant to me, and therefore relevant. I have a right to them. As does everyone. This week I feel more connected to the worst the world has to offer and I have to say, I don’t like it. So I’ve been asking myself, how can I do something to help the little Tracey’s of the world live? How can I really make a difference? You see, I believe I can make a difference. That I can do something significant. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’ll be sure to tell you when I do know, because I’ll be looking for support. I’ve decided that I’m going to get really really busy, because if I want to change the world, then I need the power and connections to do so. Don’t worry, I won’t be entering politics – never understood why anyone would do that – but I’ll find a way, somehow. All I know is that I need to do more. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

I woke up today with Vick’s news going around and around in my head. It’s definitely hit me harder today than when I first heard about it. Vick lost her baby daughter, Tracey, yesterday – a little girl who had been on this planet for only six weeks. Tracey had been a sickly bubba since birth, but because Vick lives in a poor part of the Philippines, her daughter got sub-standard care and died because she had an allergic reaction to some antibiotics. Vick asked the doctors not to give the medicine to her daughter, but because doctors are still Gods in this part of the world, they ignored Vick and killed her daughter. The worst part is – she didn’t need to die. I can still hear the roar of grief in Vicky’s voice when we spoke yesterday, and that is probably why I keep finding myself in tears. It is unbearable to think that anyone you love is going through such a horrendous time, especially when I’m so far away and completely useless to her right now. All I have is words. Vicky is a lady who deserved to be a mother more than anyone I know. She took beautiful care of my boys and our family for two and a half years, and before that, she spent nearly 15 years taking care of and loving other people’s children in Singapore. She is a wonderful person, someone I have missed keenly, and I was delighted that at long last, it was her turn to enjoy motherhood. I’m finding myself going from grief to anger today, because why is this world so unfair? If Tracey was born in Singapore, or Australia, or anywhere else where healthcare is affordable and of a high standard, she would be alive. But she’s not, and millions of women all over the world are suffering unbearable heartache while their governments continue to be corrupt and instead of making their countries better for their people (which is their job), they are spending trillions of dollars on weapons, killing neighbours and starting wars, when the only thing that matters to the majority of people in this world is living with peace, love and harmony. I think women need to take back the mantle of power from men – they’ve had their time and keep fucking it up. Maybe if women rule, we can get refocused on the things that matter, like making sure everyone enjoys a minimal standard of living and that every community has access to a hospital that is equipped with the best doctors, equipment and standards of hygiene? It really shouldn’t be too much to ask. The grief of losing a child is probably the most unbearable grief I could imagine and I just wish that I could have done more for Vick, and for any woman facing this situation. I feel I have so much with my two beautiful lads and the benefits I have had all my life because I won the life lotto of being born in the first world. Vick didn’t win that lotto. In the meantime Vicky my darling, I’m thinking of you every day, mourning with you for your little treasure, and I hope you can find some solace during this time to help you through. Your unbending faith in God is sure to help you right now and just know that my family love you and we are here for you always. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

A little while ago I came across Slut Walks following a Mona Gable Blogpost, which led me to the original NYT article it was based on, by Rebecca Traister.  Somehow I missed all of the coverage around SlutWalks and found it a very intriguing idea. It’s also been rattling around in my head ever since and I wanted to write my thoughts down, but I just haven’t had the time or headspace to get my thinking together. So here goes. For those equally oblivious to these events, SlutWalks came about when a Toronto police officer told a group of college women in May this year that if they wished to escape sexual assault, they should avoid dressing like sluts. Idiot. It actually reminded me of the South Australian judge who, many years ago during a rape trial between a husband and wife, said that “no really can mean yes.” He wasn’t popular. Anyways, as a result of the Toronto cop making this stupid statement, men and women have marched in more than 70 cities around the world, often dressed in “sluttish” attire. It’s not an activity that made it to Singapore suffice to say… Well I don’t think it did? Both Mona and Rebecca raise this issue quite delicately, with neither convinced that marching the streets in a pair of panties is the way to deal with the situation, but then, what is appropriate? One thing that has always pissed me off is the question in a rape trial – what were you wearing? Like that has absolutely ANYTHING at all to do with rape. I’ve met many rape victims (and have almost been one myself twice) and you know what, some dress sexily, some as modest as can be – and every time I hear this question, I want to scream to the judge and the media often supporting the idea – “if we all dress in ankle length floral kaftans not dissimilar to a tent, will you then finally accept that it is the man’s responsibility?” And if it’s continued to be positioned as women’s fault, you have to ask – do the Arabs have it right by recognising men can’t control themselves, and therefore the women must take responsibility by covering up and dressing in burkas?” Also, if it is women’s responsibility, does that mean the West is as full of sexual repression as is reportedly the case in the Arab world? I unequivocally believe that it is NEVER a woman’s fault for being raped. We do not ask for it. We do not attract it by how we dress. We do not deserve it for being free and easy. The only thing women are guilty of is having a vagina (besides other orifices). I mean, can’t people see the contradiction with how we view our so-called progressive world alongside archaic beliefs like this? So much for women’s lib! Men who rape are responsible for their own actions, but some claim they cannot control themselves. Somewhere along the way in a rapists life, one experience (or many) happened that taught them violence was OK, or that women were inferior, or that control is something appealing, or that sexually dominating people was horny, or they were sexually abused by someone they trusted, or they watched their mother raped by their father, or considered the scenes in porn movies where women enjoyed having a 15 inch dildo shoved up her rear the norm, or whatever… And there is another element to look into – the “sickness” within society at large that creates “these” people, rather than laying all of the blame with the victims. Or is it in the genes as some claim? The reality is – this situation isn’t straight forward no matter how strongly I believe that women are not responsible for rape. So I decided to do a bit of “market research” and asked Steve – why do men rape? He said he had absolutely no idea how any man could enjoy forcing a woman sexually, let alone being physically capable of sustaining an erection while forcing themselves upon a woman. OK I said, let’s talk about that no-turning-back-point you get to, where there’s a promise of sex, or we’re getting hot and steamy and something happens – the boys interrupt, for example. I have watched this point occur a few times, and for me, no big deal if we get interrupted. But for Steve, he goes from angry to hurt and back to angry again for about 24 hours afterwards and it can be rather uncomfortable. Thankfully, he’s more of a sulker about it, but it’s a pretty powerful reaction to observe and one I am unable to appreciate fully. It’s just not like that for me and I presume, most women.   Steve explained “it’s like my whole body is surging with testosterone, every muscle is pumped up with it, and until I can get that release I am consumed by it.” I asked another friend Dave, who is equally respectful of women and he said pretty much the same thing. And you see, I believe this is the point we are talking about – that all consuming physical reaction. Fortunately, the majority of men on the planet have had an appropriate upbringing that teaches them to control that urge and not lash out when they don’t get their “release” (even if sulking might follow). Unfortunately some men have not learnt that control. For me, this is the fundamental issue. Women are being blamed for men reaching that point and their inability to control themselves. What gets them there? A woman is teasing them or perceived to be? They are getting on well with a woman and the night is looking promising? A porno? Who knows! I don’t know what happens to make a man capable of rape, BUT the role of women should be deemed irrelevant, because men should be responsible for themselves and know what is, and what is not, appropriate

Girls, how are we going to get through the next few weeks? It’s almost World Cup Rugby time, and that means a dedication and focus on sport I’m just not used to from my dear husband – I will go un-noticed, un-loved and un-cherished… But I have a strategy for survival for us gals married to (or shacked up with) blokes who love their rugby, and my strategy is this – we’re going to come up with an “International Team of Spunks” AND an “International Team of Ugly Bastards,” because seriously, there really are some ugly bastards playing rugby. I would like to see our final list make headlines, so fellow rugby widows, your support and sharing of this campaign is vital! To come up with truly International teams, I need you to nominate your contenders as the tournament progresses – simply write the names in the comment section of the blog and I’ll capture all the data. Then I’ll issue a survey and we can all vote together. In the last two World Cups, I’ve done my own International Team of Spunks, but I’m looking forward to sharing the love with my fellow women in this new world of social media, as well as extending it to include an ugly bastards team. Personally, I am very happy that my husband is a lover of rugby. Before we met, I was always happy to survey a scrum or watch Taqiri run the length of the pitch – such fine thighs. Fortunately, my rugby knowledge has increased thanks to the patient teachings of my husband, and I now have a greater appreciation for the actual game. However my preference remains with perving at the lovely big thighs, bulky shoulders, tight bottoms, big hunky chests, and well, pretty much the whole gamut of a professional rugby player’s body. I also have full permission to perve to my heart’s content without threat of ego devastation – so that’s a bonus for the coming weeks. Now, while I appreciate that not all women love their men big, most women with rugby loving husbands will tend towards this demographic, so we should be able to capture some excellent international data. The rules There are 15 players on each team, but with a squad, we get to add six more. For both teams, we are allowed a maximum of two players/number, and while coming up with two nominees for number threes (prop) might be challenging, we’re going to have to vote hard to agree which are the sexiest number 10s (fly half/First 58). Whereas the ugly bastards team is sure to have a plethora of prop options but not many fly halfs. Simple right? For the remaining six, we’ve got a bit more flexibility as they can play in any position. It’s sure to evolve as we go, and we’ll also seek to nominate the spunkiest team overall, as well as the ugliest – South Africa and Argentina stand a good chance of winning the latter. The final rule – while I will be using advanced online research technology to capture the votes – the final decision is mine and mine alone, unless you can convince me otherwise… In addition, I will, of course, be offering my deep insight on the games, so stay tuned for Haka critiques, the best clothes ripping perving opportunity, the best scrum of the tournament, amongst others. We’ll get through this together ladies. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea PS: All Blacks, it would be lovely to see you win, and even though my heart will always be with the Wallabies, I’d love it to be your year. But if you do drop the ball (so to speak), just feel reassured that I expect quite a few of your team members to be on the “International Team of Spunks.”

Has anyone watched Secret Millionaire? Mate, talk about messing about with your heart strings. Last year we watched Australia’s “Secret Millionaire,” and this year it’s been the British and now the American one. I’ve got to say, considering these are considered first world countries, some people live in very shite circumstances indeed. The Australian one was hard, but as a general rule, the basic standard of living – even for the poorest – is much higher than the US and the UK. Don’t get me wrong, some of Australia’s destitute are having a very hard time of it, but one thing to be thankful for is the weather – it makes a hell of a lot of difference when you have to sleep rough. I always remember those poor buggers I’d see sleeping in cardboard boxes in London and Boston during the winter months – ahhhhh – it was so frickin cold!! In the UK and US there are young families living in single-room-mould-infested-dumps and that is just not how it’s supposed to be in the first world. We all know that people live with the threat of gun violence in the US, but in this show you’ll meet the children who’ve watched their parents gunned down, or their siblings, or friends… Brutal. This show really makes you look at how drugs create horrendous societal problems at every level in both countries, why kids have given up and dropped out of education thus perpetuating the cycle, how the disabled and physically impaired don’t have a chance of meeting basic needs because most people don’t care, and that people are literally starving. One story showed that 65 percent of people in one community were malnourished. This isn’t Darfur, this is the UK and US! But within every community you’ll find truly amazing people working their arses off to help as many as they can. They’re the true heroes whose only motivation is to make the standard of life for their community better. They’re feeding thousands, giving people respect and dignity, training young people, trying to find jobs for those who need them, pushing the government to provide better housing, taking care of single mums, building playgrounds so children can know some childhood, and they’re taking care of the sick who are unable to get themselves to hospital. People run activities for the elderly, they create safe environments for the young people when everyone else has given up on them and try to get them re-engaged back into society, and they’re doing so much incredible work – mostly without any support from government. But the thing they give the most is love and community spirit – everyone needs that. There really are some remarkable people in this world. Bring in the millionaires, people who come from very comfortable lives – most of whom have worked hard for it – and within 10 days (only six days for the US millionaires) you watch them profoundly changed by the experience. Most start off with a pretty patronizing attitude towards the poor, but they change their point of view very quickly as many of them get to know “poor” people for the first time in their lives. Also, as part of the deal, they’re “poor” – they have to survive on the equivalent of job seekers allowance while away (six pounds a day in the UK) and live in equally undesirable accommodation – let’s just say most of them start their journey by cleaning the toilet. The one consistent thing is that all of them are absolutely shocked by how their fellow countrymen are surviving in a world that has been comfortable and generous to them. When people talk about the divide between rich and poor, this show definitely demonstrates how deep that divide can be. Many might be cynical about this show. I mean let’s face it – it’s very positive PR for the millionaires after all. When you do something so public, with yourself positioned as the saving hero, some might be a little sceptical. But I think it’s shedding light on some very challenging situations people within our communities are facing, and if it takes a TV show to bring these things to light to make more of us think about what we can do to help, and maybe even be a little less judgemental of people in these situations, then so be it. And let’s face it, many of the millionaires are donating hundreds of thousands of their own money to these communities, and it’s not just a one-off thing, some are involved for the long term, bringing real value. If you’re looking for some meaningful TV viewing, I reckon this is a powerful show. It’ll break your heart and give you hope at the same time, but it ain’t always easy viewing. If I ever feel in need of a good cry, I always make sure I’ve got one recorded, but more importantly, it makes me want to do more. And while we don’t need to be millionaires to make a contribution to our society’s welfare, money certainly helps, but so does hope.   Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

There are lots of wonderful things about living in Asia, all sorts of traditions that are a bit out there for a foreigner, and one of the highlights for me is Hungry Ghost Month. The tradition is during the seventh month of the year, you should not do normal activities, like buying or moving into a new house, you definitely shouldn’t get married, or make any other major purchases, like buying a new car. Why? Because the gates of Hell are flung open as the spirits of the underworld are let loose to party and cause mischief. During the seventh month, the dead move among the living. To appease the ghosts, all over Singapore (as well as Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Malaysia – or any predominately Taoist or Buddhist society) – you’ll see shrines towering with offerings to appease the ghosts. Traditional offerings are food and paper effigies of daily items ghosts might need in the afterlife – homes, maids, daily items, and more. During Hungry Ghost Month, you’ll see huge bins on fire all over the island and the smell of incense becomes a part of daily life. There’ll be big parties around town, but there is always one table reserved for the ghosts. On it will be a tablecloth, chopsticks, plates, glasses of wine, and the signature dish – a roasted pig’s head in the middle. So if you turn up at one of these parties, don’t sit at this table. My three and a half year old Jax discovered the Hungry Ghost Month shrines this year, which I was very cool about because one of the main reasons for moving back to Asia is to give my lads a perspective on a lot of different religious and cultural practises, rather than just what I was exposed to as a child. Singapore covers most of the major religions and cultures in the world, so it’s a superb place for this. Not to mention, how can a little lad resist such a colourful spectacle, and with candles and incense burning away, fire is always going to get attention. The only problem is, a three year old struggles to understand that the offerings at a Shrine are not for him. Cups of coffee, no problem. Cigarette butts, no problem. Stale soggy biscuits, no problem. Piles of bright oranges, no problem. But Chuppa Chups – PROBLEM! We have a no Chuppa Chup policy in our house, because I want the boys to have great teeth. As such, they are welcome to eat as many as they want at a birthday party, and I did get Jax to stay in the cinema for Cars 2 yesterday only with the assistance of Chuppa Chups – hey it was his first cinema experience, so a special day. But otherwise, no no no! Because the lollipops were discovered in one place, every shrine became a tantalizing temptation for the Jaxster, and anyway, what the hell do ghosts need Chuppa Chups for? Are they all taking e’s and dancing their nuts off in the afterlife? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

As it’s coming up to the weekend, I wanted to share a wonderful little tip I was given many years ago by a British School Mam who was in charge of a very prestigious private school – how to buy great wine anywhere in the world. You see, in Australia I knew my wine. I knew which brands I liked, what year was good, and pretty much never screwed up a purchase. But then I turned up in London and there wasn’t too much quality Aussie vino on the shelves – back then anyway. Instead I was faced with French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian wines, to name a few. They weren’t even in English, so where did I even begin? I’m not a wine connoisseur and I’ll never attend a course to learn what a good bouquet smells like, if it has good legs, or a nice chocolaty flavour that dances across one’s pallet. It’s just not me, and while I admire people who know their wines, I prefer drinking wine because it tastes good. But with this tip, I don’t need to know the ins and outs – I can just enjoy a really nice meaty Shiraz – always my wine of choice these days, and while “meaty” is certainly not a word a wine aficionado would use, it describes a good Shiraz for me. Without further ado, my friend suggested when you buy wine: if it’s red, make sure the alcohol content is over 13% for white over 12%, and always make sure the wine is at least a couple of years old. Based on this starting point, I have since elaborated on the wine buying guidelines: Any red I buy must be over 14% with my preference at around 14.5% white 13% the wine must be at least four years old Now there have been times when I’ve passed this wisdom onto friends and when I mention the alcohol content they think I’m just a piss-head and that’s all it means. But no, the higher the alcohol content, the higher the quality of the wine is my understanding – so it’s not a boozers recommendation! A true wino might disagree with me on all of this, which is absolutely cool, BUT I have never ever had a failure since applying my rules and I am ever vigilant about applying them. As a result, I can buy wine from anywhere in the world, and it has served me well as I’ve wandered this very fine world of ours for many, many years. The other great thing about my guidelines is you can always find great wine, but it doesn’t always have to be at a huge price – this is especially important when you are living in a place like Singapore, where wine is taxed at such a high rate. So there you go. Even if you don’t like wine, or don’t drink it, you won’t fail using these rules and if attending a friend’s house for dinner, your hosts will be impressed. If nothing else, please do keep these rules to hand if you are ever invited to a dinner party at our house, because if you bring a crappy bottle, we will not share our good stuff with you. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea PS: if you do manage to get a crappy bottle – whether you buy it yourself or receive it as a gift – those wine aerators really do make a BIG difference! Naturally at Steve’s insistence, we have to have a fancy carafe, but that’s just him trying to be posh.

Well apparently it makes you feel better. Doh you say? Well a couple of dudes spent seven years experimenting to prove this fact. You see I’ve just read “Blink” by Malcolm Gladwell, a book that discusses the decisions we make within the blink of an eye. Things like whether or not we like someone, if something is authentic, who gets the job, the taste of things, our response to smells, etc.. It’s a cool little book and if you read it, you’ll understand why sometimes we just know something, even if we don’t know why. The other great thing about this yarn is it encourages us to trust these instincts, as they are often more right than taking endless amounts of time over decisions, factoring in every possibility… I definitely need to get Steve to read it. He’s definitely a planner. There are lots of stories backed up by research, including a fascinating chapter on the increase in professional female musicians with the worlds’ orchestras once auditions were held behind screens. When the traditional male decision makers listened with their ears and not their eyes, the number of women accepted into orchestral positions took off. As an ex-female Euphonium player, I was very happy to hear that. But Silvan Tomkins, Wallace V. Friesen and Paul Ekman really caught my attention. Pre their research, conventional wisdom held that expressions were culturally determined or “we simply used our faces according to a set of learned social conventions.” These guys proved that facial expressions were universal and then they spent seven years mapping facial muscles and expressions. Apparently there are 43 distinct muscular movements in the face, and for two muscle groupings there are 300 possible combinations, a 3rd muscle added brings it up to 4,000, and a 5th muscle means more than 10,000 possible muscle combinations… The really interesting part was the physical impact on the men during the days they focused on anger and distress. After weeks of doing this, one of them said they were feeling like crap. Then the other realised he’d been feeling like crap too. So then they started monitoring the link between expressions and feeling like crap. Then a whole new world of research opened up about how our expressions and our autonomic nervous systems are linked. So the message, if you’re walking around like a miserable bastard feeling like crap all the time, stop being a miserable bastard. Sometimes when I catch myself with a “down” mouth, I say hang on and force a smile. It doesn’t always shake the mood, but it helps. Other times when I get a cold and start feeling bloody miserable about it, I know I’ve got to shake the mood to shake the sickness. As “they” say, happiness heals. That’s what I discovered in this cracking yarn and thought it worth sharing with any other miserable bastards out there. Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

 Dawn on our first day of marriageBoob on right belongs to Siobhan Last night Steve and I accidentally watched ‘Before Sunset,’ starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, and considering we were expecting a Pierce Brosnan/Woody Harrelson comedy, it was quite a surprise. But it was a wonderful surprise and took us back to our holiday in Paris/St. Maxim six weeks after we met. The movie is the sequel to ‘Before Sunrise’, which is the story of a couple who meet on a train and have a torrid 24 hour love affair in Venice. When they part, they don’t exchange phone numbers or full names and never see each other again. But the connection was so intense that the years apart are deeply disappointing for both of them in all other experiences of love. Bring in ‘Before Sunset’ and they meet again nine years later, and the whole movie is about them reconnecting and talking about what has happened since. Practically all of it is shot as the couple walk the streets of Paris, so all kudos to both of the actors for remembering their lines. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and deeply compelling, but it is a brilliant movie focused on taking chances and most importantly, about being bold and brave with love. For us personally, we were mesmerised. Yes even a bloke was caught up in the romance, once he decided he didn’t hate the movie because it wasn’t what he expected. You see, when we met, Steve was scheduled to resign from his job that week and leave Singapore for the UK almost immediately. He told me this news two days after we met. I thought fucken great! I finally meet an amazing guy and he’s going to leave. I then jumped on a plane to Hong Kong for work, Steve picked me up at the airport Friday afternoon, and that night he told me he’s staying, because he thought we had something special and he needed to see where it was going. I found it a very courageous decision – because love can feel like a massive risk – and I am so thankful that he did make that decision, or we might be like the couple in the movie – always wondering? Before I met Steve, I’d booked a trip to France to catch up with my amazing friends Nathalie and Saskia. We were all heading down to St. Maxim for a holiday together – something we did a lot when we all lived in London. I said to Steve, do you want to come? He said, why not! We flew on different planes, landing at different times, and during that short time in Paris, we had the most amazingly romantic and beautiful time together. We spent our time lying together in Paris’ beautiful parks, looking at the clouds and talking, talking, talking. We went to all of the wonderful sites around Paris, sat at cafes on the sidewalks watching the sun go down, dined in magnificent street cafes, caught a boat along the Seine and what can I say, it was a time of wonder. During this time we fell deeply and irrevocably in love. We were completely consumed by each other and I’m sure it was obvious to all who saw us, but the great thing about Paris is – no one cares. Watching the movie brought all of those lovely memories back, as they walked the same streets, took the same boat to Notre Dame, and sat in the same parks. It also got me thinking that anyone who finds their true love should immediately book a trip to Paris, because there is absolutely no better place than that magnificent city to be in love. While our love has grown in so many ways since and expanded to include our wee lads, sometimes I miss those days when we didn’t need sleep, when all was wondrous as we were discovering each other and integrating ourselves together, forever. Yeah, since we met each other, we definitely believe in true love.   We certainly did our new love justice when we met, but Paris was the highlight, and thanks to the movie, we got to live it together again last night, and today I’m still thinking about it. Sigh… Yours, without the bollocks Andrea