A story about a love, my ultimate love, my gold-standard love. The love I measure all other loves against. I was sat in my bar last Friday when a song came on that picked me up and threw me into the past, into a time when a wonderful young man taught me how to love. 

A story my grandma told me, many years ago in a Punjabi garden, has been whirring again in my head for the last two weeks. It has been gobbling me up. I needed to do something with it. I need to help, somehow. But all I can do is talk. So, I hope in retelling it I can do some good  

Everything is going to be just fine, darling. The young of Europe are revolting, and in a good way. They are wired for tolerance. We old folk will be saved by their kindness.  

A handsome devil wandered into my bar. My flirt offensive was about to be unleashed, until he hurled himself across my red lines. 

I turned forty-six. A horrible number. But I am fine with getting older. Time is, however, running out on this life. I have so much more to do. So many versions of me are yet to be lived. So many wild imaginings to make real.  

My dear darling friend is suffering from a horrid disease, in silence. No one wants to hear about female reproductive health issues and the devastating consequences of some of the associated illnesses.  Well, tough bananas, I'm speaking up. Talking is all I can do for my wonderful friend. 

Someone I know is in a mess. If I intervene I risk so much. The peace that cushions me would evaporate. But they might be rescued. What to do? How far does one go? Gosh, it's a conundrum for the ages.

A 'thank you' to the most recent silent inspirer who wandered briefly into my life. My bravery needs, at times, charging up by witnessing the bravery of others. 

History has taught us that we must stand and be counted when it comes to the defence of our legal freedoms. Too many people are turning the other cheek, lowering their gaze. I can't, I must say something. It's all I can do. 

I'm all in on adventure, and my Lisbon adventure feels like it is coming to a gentle close. I need to remember how free I am , and I must honour that freedom. Where will I go? Whom will I be? I have no idea, darling. And that is such a thrill. Goodness, life really is dazzling, if we let it be. 

Portugal, my wonderful darling, the haven of peace and acceptance, has been entranced by the far right. I'm exhausted, sad, and unable to dream. But we folk are marvellous, and I think all will be just lovely, in the end. I hope. I really hope. 

What started off as a normal Monday soon turned into a day of destiny for me. It was time for me to take my place among the great heroes of history. With the outfit selected, and with the weight of the nation on my (slim) shoulders, and with a thimble of wine, I prepared myself for battle. 

Four years in Lisbon! Gosh, gosh, gosh! I've done a lot, and drank a lot, and read a lot, and I am still heavy at the hip. What a hoot!

During a last-minute dash back to England to be with Dad as he went into hospital, I realised that nothing changes and everything changes.   

I gently walked away from a lovely, beautiful stranger who was seemingly head-over-his-big-heels for me. Instinct told me that I needed more. Instinct also whispered to me that it would have been unkind to him - and to me - if I were to stay.  

A letter to my younger self. An update about how life is getting on. I think everything is marvellous. There is peace in our time. 

Life is just a wonderful wander from phase to phase. I have a feeling that this marvellous phase might be coming to its natural end. But I have no idea where the next phase will be, and that's just wonderful! 

I am not sure if getting older makes rejection easier, or if rejection makes rejection easier. But either way, it is getting easier. The wobble is reducing. Nothing can topple me.  

An old lady I barely knew has died, and I feel so very sad. She was so entirely lovely to me. I must be entirely lovely to others. We're all hidden figures until someone says 'hello'.

New year resolutions. I have a few. And all were rather splendid, if not a touch daft. But I have a feeling that this is the year when it all the loveliness begins. I might be wrong. But I might be right, Darling!