“The first story is all about the president washing his piano. At least I’m pretty sure that’s what presidente and lavoro pieno must mean”

“He leans forward and his mouth brushes brieflyagainst mine, and I feel... nothing.I was hoping our first kiss would trigger all sorts of memories or sensations, maybe a sudden image of Paris or our wedding, or our first snog. But as he draws away I feel totally, one hundred percent blank.I can see the anticipation in Eric's face and quickly search for something encouraging to say."That was lovely! Very..." I trail off, unable to think of a single word other than quick, which I'm not sure hits the right note. "It didn't bring back any memories?" Eric is studying my face."Well...no," I say apologetically. "But, I mean, that doesn't mean it wasn't really... I mean it was... I feel quite turned on!" The words come out before I can stop them.What the hell did I say that for? I don't feel turned on."Really?" Eric lights up and he puts his briefcase down.Oh no. No no no. Nooo.”

“I mean, when I think about it, what's more important? Clothes - or the miracle of new life?”

“Just because of that one disastrous blind date she had last year, where the guy turned out to be fifty-nine, not thirty-nine (He claimed it was a typo. Yeah, I’m sure his finger just happened to slip two spaces to the left).”

“It really is the year 2007. Which means I must be...Oh my God. I'm twenty-eight.I'm old.”

“But... we'll always have Paris." I pause, thinking this through. "At least, you'll have it. And you can tell me about it.”

“If you can't be honest with your friends and colleagues and loved ones, then what is life all about?”