“OK, I confess. I Googled him once. Maybe twice. Oh, all right, so I've lost count over the years. But so what? Who hasn't gone home and Googled a man they're in love with? Hang on - did I just say the L word?- Lucy”

“So what are you doing around here?" I ask, feeling all jittery, but this time it's in a good way."Oh, I was just in the area." he says vaguely. "I thought I'd take Welly for a walk..." He trails off and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Those butterflies are going crazy in there.”

“I was in love with the idea of him. An ideal of him. Of who I thought he was. Of who he used to be.”

“So, who is it?" Stella is persisting, somewhat suspiciously. "What's his name?"But if I don't tell her the truth, what do I say? My mind draws a blank. I don't want to lie to her- "um..." walking back to the bedroom, I notice the postcard Spike chose for me resting on my top of my dresser. I haven't written that one yet. Absently I pick it up and turn it over. On the back is written "Matthew Macfadyen as Fitzwilliam Darcy." "Fitzwilliam," I blurt. "No, what's his first name?" she asks. "That is his first name.”

“The first time I met you, I fell in love with you there and then, but you didn't notice me. Then you stood me up. And then I met you again and I hated you. Well, I tried to hated you, but then when you cleaned up after Welly... I fell in love with you all over again.”

“Some people have this sort of built-in GPS, a bit like cats. You can drop them anywhere and they can find their way home. Not me. I get lost in IKEA.”

“...we've told men for so long that we're equal, we can open our own doors, carry our own bags, pay our own way, that now they're afraid to offer in case we accuse them of sex discrimination. If you were a man would you buy a woman underwear? I wouldn't dare. What if she throws it back in your face and calls you a sexist pig? So they've tried to turn into new men, but that's no good either, because now we're telling them to be masculine. We don't just want them in a pair of Marigolds cleaning the oven, that's not good enough. We want them to take control, to whisk us off hotels, buy us dinner, and make mad passionate love to us all night. We want it all ways. We want them heroes and handy with the vacuum. No wonder the poor guys are confused”