It is the story of my life. Although Terry had cleared his schedule of any travel or visits for the month of October - he would still be working, just from home when he could and definitely take at least one week off for the busiest days- the bulk of the arrangements and shifting out of the old place was left to me while Terry was in the States. So when Hando left, I had a hectic week of clearing up and transporting boxes and cases from the apartment to the House. I was exhausted even before the move officially took place.

I was a bit low those last few days for one reason and another- mostly the thought of the move, I expect, although there were a few other issues that were preying on my mind. Most of all I had been lonely. I knew that that was the root cause of the way I felt.

I used to love my own company. To the outside world I often appear to be a very gregarious type of person and, in many ways, I am, but I also have a very strong taste for solitude. You don't know much about my former life before I became part of this unusual sorority of ours. Much of that is my fault because I rarely give much away. I cloak the real person in a storm of irrelevant bluster and mayhem to keep hidden the fragile nature of what I really am. But slowly I am learning to reveal myself and no longer feel quite so ashamed of the dirty secrets of my inner life. It is strange really that I can reveal intimate details of my sexuality and fantasy but am reluctant even to admit to my own name.

For most of my adult life I have been alone. There've been plenty of men- naturally- but apart from a few notable disasters, I have shacked up with few of them, preferring to keep my own home so that I could kick them out of my bed and out of my life whenever I had had enough - which was usually fairly early on in any relationship.

I was on the brink of something rather unique here. Terry and I might have been living together on and off for the better part of a year but there had still been a formlessness about it, a temporary quality, which underpinned the way we felt. This Game is a conundrum. We have oceans of love but are not accorded the bonds of normal life and partnership. I don't really mean marriage, either. I might call Terry my husband on occasion for the want of a better title but he isn't and he never will be. He isn't mine alone, as I am not solely his. We do not function by the rules of the rest of our culture. But I still feel as I feel and part of me requires a symbol that what we share is different from what we find with other Brothers and Sisters. Our symbol has become this home and what it implies for us. It is a family home and we are the family. Within these walls there is no one and nothing else but us.

As the day for our final move approached I felt this very keenly. Each box I packed full of OUR things, trivial things, like pots and pans and towels and sheets seemed to take on an almost sacred significance. We have built this together; it is not mine or his; it is ours. I do not have to share this with anyone else and nor does he- a very unique moment in life for both of us.

I sat in the lounge room with a number of boxes, labeling and sealing them with tape. The phone rang and I scrabbled around under a pile of bags to find it. Breathless, I answered. It was Terry.

"Heavy breathing? Kick him out bed, love, the real man's on his way home."

I giggled. "I should be so lucky! I'm here working my fingers to the bone for you. Do you know how many suits you've got? I need to make a couple of trips just with your clothes alone."

"Suits? From the woman with more shoes than Imelda Marcos? That's rich. Hey, don't start throwing the boxes around. I'm back tomorrow. Leave them for me. I don't want you carrying them ..."

"I'm tougher than I look, you know? Most are not heavy anyway and the commissionaire downstairs had been helping me load the car. Stop worrying. Just get here. I'm lonely. I miss you. I can't sleep these days unless this big, hot, sweaty body wraps itself round me..."

He laughed. "You do have a way with words, I'll give you that, love. Makes me feel so wanted...is everything set? Have you organized the change of address? Gas board? Electricity and phone? Double checked the delivery dates? Did they sort out that leak in the gutter? I want the piping replaced not repaired, you got that...?"

"Terry...shut up! I have lived in my own home for fifteen years. I do not need you to tell me what to do. It's all done. Everything is arranged. Now please, relax and just get into a positive frame of mind. Say to yourself...we can do this. I can hang curtains and take out the trash...come on, Terry, like a mantra...I will try and remember how to switch on the dishwasher and where we keep the coffee. And the candles...ha ha ha..."

"I'm just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly... What are you doing now?"

"Now?...I'm sitting on the floor labeling boxes. Why? You want to talk dirty to me? You want to know what I'm wearing?"

"No, actually I was wondering if you would have time to book the car in for a service..."

"Terry...I just killed you with my secret ray gun. Get lost. Your car will live without a tweak for a week or so- which is more than you will if you give me anything else to do or leave me another night after this one without benefit of your body. I am beginning to forget what you look like."

"That is about as unlikely as you buying no more shoes this season. Take a deep breath and conserve your libido. I'll be home soon. And I'll expect the full service. So don't forget to wax..."

"Suppose you think that was funny, don't you? Actually it was. Don't worry. No knickers, cold beer and a blow job. And then I close the door...that should set you off nicely..."

"At least. Look, I've gotta dash. Take care and no heavy lifting. Apart from my dick, that is. You'll need both hands, love. Tomorrow. Love you. Miss you..."

I sank back as his voice died away and closed my eyes. So much unsaid in his words, as ever. What did he really say? That he was worried about me. No one has ever worried about me before since my Mum and Dad. I used to hate that. Now I think I like it.

I watched the street below from the balcony. All afternoon I had been restless and finally spent a long time chatting to Lachlan, who was dripping around in the Temple missing Heather. He cheered me up and I hope I lifted his melancholy somewhat but he knew I was distracted. Lach is so lovely that sometimes I forget he's a man - sometimes, but not often- he is far too sexy for that. I love the way he suddenly says something quite suggestive after all the romantic and friendly chatter and then he gets all worried that he has upset me and gone too far. Too adorable.

It was a cold afternoon on the balcony, rather a nip in the air, and I pulled the woollen jacket closer around my shoulders, hugging my arms to me. Then the cab pulled up. Terry emerged and strode in towards the front door- I scooted through to wait for him by the lifts, jumping from one leg to the other like a child at an ice cream stand. I could hardly wait until the lift doors opened.

But finally they did and Terry emerged, moving quickly and easily, with that walk of his that seems to be the minimum of effort and fuss and yet be intensely masculine and assertive all at the same time. As he saw me he stopped and smiled, seeming surprised for a moment, and then I was in his arms.  He simply dropped his carryon and picked me up, held me to him, a spontaneous reaction worth more to me than a million declarations. His body and his hands spoke of need, even as they appeared to master me in his strong embrace.

He swung me round; we fell into the apartment, kissing and already pulling at each other's clothes. He set me down, nibbling my neck, I went to close the door, saw his luggage, dashed out to pull it in and he dragged me back, this time to carry me in his arms up the stairs, kicking open doors and stealing kisses.

"Terry...dinner..."

"Fuck dinner. I want you. Now."

I hit the bed, he fell upon me, discarding some of his clothes but only as much as need required in his haste. His head buried in my naked breast, he took me hard and unyielding, the way it is sometimes when a man has waited too long and doesn't know how else to tell you what he feels. I stared at the ceiling and writhed beneath his touch. I knew I would come but I did not have a burning hunger for it. I wanted just this. To feel him. To watch him. To know how much he needed me. It was more intoxicating than my own pleasure. Like nothing I have ever known.

"God, how I missed you..."I heard his gasp as he thrust and ground into me.

"Not as much as I missed you..." I whispered and felt his smile pressed against my cheek. We made love...we talked...we dozed...we ate fruit and drank wine because neither of us had the patience to prepare a meal...we made our plans and amazed ourselves at our future.

Morning and the day itself arrived. I had wanted an early start. But it wasn't going to happen. First, we slept late after on and off dozing and lovemaking throughout the night. Terry was, by then, ravenous and staggered downstairs in his shorts, unshaven and unwashed, demanding food. I gave him last night's steak and a few eggs. He wasn't in a mood to be hurried, lazy and satisfied, well-fucked and boneless, hands all over me and dragging me on to his knee- the morning Teddy Bear mood. So I left him in the kitchen to take a shower. He followed and wanted to play some more.

"Terry- we are moving house today...what's got into you?" I whined.

"What's going to get into you, ya mean?" he grunted crudely and pressed me back against the tiled wall. I pushed him away but he wasn't in the mood for refusal. I giggled and gave in- some chance of me refusing him anything. Against the wall, under the warm jets of a shower, with Terry in full commando mode is quite an experience for any woman. Warms the cockles of your heart - and a few other places, too.

By the time we finally loaded the last of the boxes into the two cars and set off for the house, we were on the last minute. He was there first, typically, and had already emptied his load when I screeched into the driveway, dashed out of the car and ran for the door.

"Hey...wait up," he shouted. I turned round, ready to moan at him for whatever his gripe was, when he swung me up, told me to drop what I was carrying and proceeded to sweep me over towards the door.

"What are you doing?" I laughed, struggling, a little embarrassed in view of the enormous great delivery lorry that was pulling up at the gate.

"Carrying you over the threshold. Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" He stopped at the porch and waited a moment; we both looked at each other. "This is our home. We are a family now. Unorthodox, maybe, but nonetheless you are mine and I am yours. There's no going back once we cross this portal...this is real life, Tink...you sure you want to take me on?"

What did I say? Nothing. Just cried and hid my face in his shirt. He took that for yes and carried me over; then gently set me down, took my face in his hands and kissed me - one of his stunners. What a moment! And then he returned to business- leaving me weak-kneed and weepy, striding off purposefully and launching himself into the fray. "Right - get this stuff unloaded and in...we haven't got all day...."

The next few hours were total chaos. Thank God for Terry, who simply took charge, ran it like a military operation, took absolutely no shit from anyone and had men jumping to attention right left and centre. But even so, it was a long, long day and by eight in the evening we were still knee deep in packing cases and chaos- and failing fast.

I ordered out- Chinese- and when it arrived simply unloaded the cartons onto the unpacked crates, too lazy even to use plates. Terry was connecting up the sound system in the lounge.

"Come and get this. It will go cold and congeal...I hate it like that..." I shouted over. He muttered 'in a minute' and carried on messing about tying off wires and neatening everything down in his fastidious fashion- I would just have bundled it all up and shoved it behind the cabinet with a bit of tape in my usual haphazard way. I carried the food in and fed him. He grinned and continued fussing and fiddling with it until he had it just so.

"OK...put something on...try it out," he muttered as he applied himself to eating. I scrabbled around in the box of CDs and pulled out the one I wanted. Something to perk us up. Make him laugh. Loosen him up after a tense day. I struck a pose and gave him a show.

Don't wantcha for the weekend - don't wantcha for a night
I'm only interested if I can have you for life - yeah
Uh, I know I sound serious - and baby I am
You're a fine piece of real estate, and I'm gonna get me some land

So, don't try to run - honey, love can be fun
There's no need to be alone - when you find that someone

I'm gonna getcha while I gotcha in sight
I'm gonna getcha if it takes all night
You can betcha by the time I say "go," you'll never say "no"
I'm gonna getcha, it's a matter of fact
I'm gonna getcha, don'tcha worry 'bout that
You can bet your bottom dollar, in time you're gonna be mine
Just like I should - I'll getcha good

He raised his eyes as I started performing in front of him, wiggling my bum for all I was worth and giving him an eyeful. He sat cross-legged, forking in the rice, watching and shaking his head. "Don't you ever run out of energy?" he remarked. I giggled and ramped it up even more. Actually, I was dead on my feet, but that only makes me more hyper. Until I collapse, that is.

I dragged him up to dance and he reluctantly set aside the remains of his takeaway to jive with me on the bare floorboards. It doesn't take him long- dancing always catches him quickly; he responds to physical stimuli, has such great rhythm and is light on his feet. I love it when he takes over and really dances- with that lazy smile on his face and the beginning of a twinkle in his eye. We fooled about and laughed until the music finished and he flung me into a pose over his arm while we both chuckled at the craziness of the moment. Then he suddenly seemed to grow serious and rested me down while he searched through our collection for something else. He selected a CD and inserted it in the player. "Enough nonsense. This is what we should be dancing to on a night like tonight. At a time like this."

We got the afternoon
You got this room for two
One thing I've left to do
Discover me
Discovering you

One mile to every inch of
Your skin like porcelain
One pair of candy lips and
Your bubblegum tongue

And if you want love
We'll make it
Swimming a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while

Your body's a wonderland
Your body's a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body's a wonderland

He pulled me to him and we swayed together as we listened to the lyrics and his hands smoothed down my back. "A wonderland...your body...I never get enough of it ...more than a wonderland..." he muttered disjointed comments in my ears as he kissed and caressed my face. His mood was dreamy, a little far away, in himself somewhere, slow and unhurried. I began to realize just how much significance he had placed on today - as much as I had, in fact. He knew what a step we were taking and he was ready for it. I was afraid almost to breathe in case I spoiled the magic of that moment in his arms.

Something 'bout the way your hair falls in your face
I love the shape you take when crawling towards the pillowcase
You tell me where to go and
Though I might leave to find it
I'll never let your head hit the bed
Without my hand behind it

You want love?
We'll make it
Swimming a deep sea
Of blankets
Take all your big plans
And break 'em
This is bound to be a while

Your body Is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body Is a wonderland

"Let's go to bed. I've had enough. Tomorrow." He muttered.

"I need a shower. So do you. We are filthy."

"Sounds good to me. Scrub my back?" He hugged me close and whispered the words to me. He loves this song. He says it makes him think of me. Who said he didn't have a poetic side?

Damn baby
You frustrate me
I know you're mine all mine all mine
But you look so good it hurts sometimes

Your body Is a wonderland
Your body is a wonder (I'll use my hands)
Your body Is a wonderland
Your body is a wonderland

We showered. Washed each other. Talked low about the day and what we still had to do. It was so domestic you would have died laughing if you had heard us. He suddenly started laughing and so did I. Is this how it is for other people? Does it just happen that you slip seamlessly from the torrid passion of falling in love to this comfortable closeness where you find yourselves discussing where you should hang his military decorations while you are brushing your teeth, when once you used to be ripping each other's clothes off with them?

"Bloody hell, Terry...we haven't even made up the bed! Where the fuck are the sheets?" Cue a fifteen minute search through the crates in the bedroom - Terry threw himself down on the bare mattress- I watched him carefully- you know how men can do that? Even fall asleep on an unmade bed? Bedding secured, I turfed him out and then made a discovery. He couldn't make a bed. Well, he could make a bed, of course, as I am sure he had to do in the army, but he had never before apparently managed to cope with donning a duvet cover. He was amazed when I showed him how to do it, as if I had just solved Fermat's Last Theorem or something. Men must have some missing gene somewhere.

"What did you do in your own apartment?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Had a cleaner. I suppose she did things like that." He had never even wondered about who changed his bed sheets- it was as if those things had been done by magic. I thought I was pathetic. I had discovered an even more hopeless case than me; I found that thought strangely endearing.

The bed looked great. In fact so did our room, despite all the unpacked cases and crates. Terry had got his Japanese room. It ran the whole length of the house and was more of suite than a room. The bedroom itself was at one end, divided by sliding partitions, a la Nippon, from the rest of the area. The walls were stark white with subdued lighting- there was little furniture other than the enormous low bed that dominated the space set against a wall, painted dark red, into which recesses had been cut which contained oriental figures, warriors carved from rosewood, casting weird shadows from the hidden spots.

I had expected to dislike it but I didn't. It was dramatic and powerful and strangely peaceful. Everything was hidden from view- a sliding door revealed a walk in wardrobe, another a dressing room where I could clutter as much as I liked as long as I kept the door closed on his meticulously sparse and Zen sleeping area. We planned to hang some antique silk Japanese costumes on the walls- I had found a great shop that sold fabulous kimonos and Samurai warrior robes complete with mahogany rods from which to suspend them. And then, of course, he would have his sword collection on the wall of the outer room, the living space where we had a TV plasma screen fitted opposite and a low futon couch to sprawl on. I think we'll live up here. It will be like some secret hideout just for the two of us, an inner sanctum.

I slipped off my wrap and between the cool sheets, Terry joined me, and we flipped off the lights. In the silence of the unfamiliar room, we lay suddenly quiet and pensive. I curled up against him, head on his chest, our fingers interlaced. The embrace of a hundred years of past settled about us as the house surrounded us in its welcome.

"Uma?" His voice was soft and low, breaking the loud stillness.

"Mmmm?"

"If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes?"

I thought about his words for a long moment before I replied. Easing myself onto his chest, looking into his eyes even in the blackness, I whispered, "No."

He laughed softly.

"But you wouldn't ask me to marry you, would you?" I added.

Another soft laugh. "No."

"Why did you say that then?"

"I wondered if you were wishing it. If you wanted it, I would do it for you.  Hando and Teener got married. Did you know?"

"I know. He told me."

"Why did you say no when I asked you?"

"Same reason as you did. It has no meaning for me. I have no need of other people's sanctions to tell me that I am bound to you for life. Nor do I wish to bind you in any way but of your own free will. But I know not everyone feels as I do. For Hando and Teener it is the right thing and I will defend to the hilt their right to take that choice. They need the symbols and stability that their lives have always lacked. But we are different.  We make our own rules. We will make our own commitment."

He didn't answer. His arms encircled me and enclosed me tight. And that is the last thing I remember. We fell asleep.

I am ashamed to say, I was completely wrong about him. He was an absolute gem all week. He never once complained about unpacking, drilling holes for fixtures, putting up paintings and other decorations. Of course he did keep taking extended breaks for Rugby matches from Oz - interesting that his week off coincided with the opening ties of the World Cup, isn't it? But I wasn't complaining. It kept him sweet and out of my hair.

He has mastered some new skills. He can switch on a dishwasher all on his own now and actually understands that when you say automatic washing machine this does not mean that clothes load themselves, add their own detergent, select an appropriate programme and put themselves in the dryer. The concept of fabric conditioner has been explained and may have sunk in but we cannot be too hopeful at this stage. A man's brain is a delicate thing and it is easy to overload it. One milestone at a time is sufficient. However I have noted the amused look that he gets when I say "Give it to me- you are so hopeless!" and I fully understand what that reveals. It is a trick I use with cars, tools, financial matters and anything to do with stuff men find interesting. In other words- he is a fucking liar and could run the entire house single-handed if he wanted to. He just doesn't want to. Don't you just love them, the lazy bastards?

This afternoon was fun. I actually had him hanging curtains. Don't worry- I did take a video, so we have the documentary evidence to shame him next time he gets together with the other Brothers. He is actually quite fussy about things like that and spent ages getting them just right. I couldn't keep my face straight. He just gave me one of his withering glances. I exploded and rolled about the floor, making comments about Terry Thorne, Kidnap and Curtain Hanging Specialist...and he always knows where the candles are kept. I had my bottom paddled for that one. It took all afternoon because we keep getting side tracked. BUT...we have shagged in almost all of the rooms now- so I am not complaining. A perve must not forget her major calling in life.

Terry spent the day in the garden today beginning to clear the ground. We plan to landscape it properly, but he likes physical work like this and wanted to get stuck in first. He was out quite early and I spent a fun few hours watching him work, dressed in old jeans, boots and a cable knit sweater with a little woollie beanie on his head. It was, of course, drizzling slightly, but a muggy day typical for the time of year. Terry laboured hard and obviously got hot, stripped off the jumper and worked there in a T-shirt and his jeans, let us not forget that cute little hat, all fierce determination to conquer the urban jungle, muscles rippling and so sexy that I was sitting in a puddle in the kitchen.

I wasn't the only one. Terry suddenly raised his head and stopped, smiling over at someone. I followed his line of vision and saw Felicity, pouring on the charm for all she was worth, the Cow, and of course, Terry lapping it up, with that reserved, slightly bashful expression on his face that appears to be completely innocent but bloody isn't. So, of course he was away.

Time to enter the fray. Out I went to stake my claim on my property. Felicity looked annoyed. Terry smirked. I glared. And then he said it...I mean only a man could say something as stupid as that...

"Why don't you both come over for drinks tonight? Look round the house now it's all straight..."

All straight? Is he fucking mental? Felicity grabbed at the invite, I paled when I realized what I would have to do between now and the cocktail hour and Terry compounded his transgression by saying something about, "We'll put on some supper...."

The cocktail hour - and I was in state of scarcely contained panic. Terry had made a bad situation worse by inviting a few more couples from the neighbouring houses. I took revenge by making him go to the supermarket with me. He hates that. With a passion. Tesco on Saturday afternoon; he would rather go bare handed into a war zone. I also made him help me set out the buffet and gave him a heart attack by erecting Voyager (what an appropriate choice of word) in the centre of the display. He only noticed at the last minute and almost flipped.

I did put a lot of thought into my outfit; maximum flesh and minimum material guaranteed. I had to impress the wives. And the husbands. There was a two-way thing going on. You know the name of that game, don't you, girls? When Terry said "You are not going downstairs wearing that," I knew I was on the right wavelength. The men would be drooling and the women would hate me. Perfect.

Actually it was a very pleasant evening. Felicity's husband, Dorian (I joke not) was a complete tosser and Terry spent the whole evening winding him up, except the plonker was so far up his own arse that he didn't even realize it. I love it when Terry does that- talks all K and R man but manages to intimidate the hell out of the other guy even when he says nothing apparently wrong. It is an art. Emma and Laurent from across the road were both charming. She is eight months pregnant with her second baby and Laurent is French and gorgeous. Of course, Terry was absolutely lovely to her- he has this thing about pregnant women (as most men do) and Laurent was absolutely lovely to me...guess he hadn't had it for a while, and as I was hanging out of my dress both ends...

Meanwhile:

"How long have you been married, Terry?" Felicity cooed, "No plans to start a family yet?"

I saw the look on Terry's face and began to hate Felicity even more, if that is humanly possible. Felicity sailed straight on.

"Dorian has three children from his first marriage and we have Flora and Benedict together - but of course they board at school...and I am more than satisfied with that. My career comes first with me. Children are best brought up by those who like that sort of thing, don't you agree, Terry?" she babbled on. "Uma, you better get a move on- you're not getting any younger, are you?" Terry gave her an inscrutable smile but I knew she'd just blown it with him. Emma looked embarrassed, as if she was some downtrodden housewife, and I could see that Terry hated the sly dig at someone he thought was unable to defend herself.

"Uma and I are not married. No plans as yet." His answer was curt and definitive and Felicity blushed. Terry turned his back and cold-shouldered her for the rest of the evening; it was noticeable and unlike him. For once I said nothing and simply observed the dynamics of the evening. It gave me a warm glow, however, feeling that Terry had leapt to my defence, looked out for Emma and stopped hiding behind the game face for once. We had actually almost heard him express his own opinion in public.

It really was quite a pleasant evening all in all. It was a first for us in many ways and I realized that I was beginning to feel like Terry's partner in a way I had never really been before. He had been so right. Only my own crazy striving for a notional independence had kept me from seeing the obvious- that both of us had lost the taste for ploughing a lonely solo furrow.

As we cleared up and turned off the lights much later that evening, Terry pulled Voyager out from the centre of the flower arrangement on the table where he had tossed it when the doorbell had rung and he had noticed what I had done. He made a grunting noise and threw it at me. "Hide this somewhere upstairs. If I see it downstairs again, it's going in the rubbish, you got that?"

I giggled. "Don't be such an old stiff. I think it's gorgeous. Very aesthetically pleasing as well as bloody nice up your fanny..."

Terry cleared his throat. "You are so crude, Uma. And while we are on the subject. I read your diary. Very nice reading."

At that I shot him a look. "Diary? Which diary?" As if I didn't know. He switched off the hall lights and gently pushed me up the stairs.

"Hando." His lips whispered the name into my ears and I felt the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. His voice was husky and low but there was a slight menace- like something Hando might have done. But this was Terry. He never uses his power to intimidate women- except accidentally, when we just feel overwhelmed by his masculinity.

Ages ago Terry had played a game with me where he had behaved like Hando- except it hadn't really been a game, more of a lesson. Terry doesn't play games. Well, he doesn't play those kind of games, anyway, although he is happy enough to indulge me when I want a little bit of imaginative role play. Come to think of it, it's strange that he doesn't ever inaugurate that sort of sexual play- does he really not need it? Or he does he really need it more than most? The sudden idea scared and thrilled me. I wondered what Terry's darkest desires would be and why he still shows no real move towards acting them out with me.

"Three men and you. Is that what really turns you on? Do you think of that when you're alone? With me? It was a typical obscure piece of your storytelling. What did it mean? Do you get off thinking about me, Hando and Jeff abusing you...or were they really other men, known or unknown, and you used those names to blind us to the real fantasy? Would you tell me?... Did you tell him?" All the while he spoke, he whispered into my ear as he walked me up the stairs, one hand on my shoulder amicably, the other around my waist, holding me close to him.

"That was his fantasy...I just played into it. That is not what turns me on," I muttered back and tried to wriggle free; he tightened his grip just almost imperceptibly- just enough for me to feel a frisson of his power and then he let me go.

He leaned back against the wall on the upper corridor. We were in semi-darkness, just a low light at the stairway to our room shedding a dim glow on us. "What does turn you on then? Tell me." I stood in front of him and nibbled on my lower lip, trying to figure out his mood. He hadn't drunk much, we had had plenty of sex recently and there had been little during the evening to explain this curious departure from his normal behaviour.

"I don't have violent and abusive fantasies. Somehow that has lost its charm for me." My glancing reference to past events did not escape his notice. He grimaced slightly and pulled me to him.

"I'm sorry. That was unforgivable of me. I...don't know why I said it..."

"Perhaps it's your fantasy, Terry, not mine, we should be discussing. If you want to play deeper games with me and if you hold back because you are afraid that it's too soon...at least tell me. I'm not scared of anything with you..."

He interrupted, abrupt and cold. "I don't. I don't need shit like that." Warning bells.

I stroked his face and tried to relax the tension I could feel in his neck and shoulders. "Terry...want to know what does turn me on?" I poured the suggestion into his ears and the change in his demeanour was instantaneous. I wasn't sure what was happening but made a mental note to think about this later.

"I do have dark fantasies that include you. But they are not about violence. They are deep and dark because they frighten my notion of who I am when I am with a man. It isn't the fear of being hurt but the fear of being swamped that worries me." I tried to answer his question but was aware that my reply was cryptic in the extreme.

"I don't understand..."He pushed me against the wall and began to feel my body through the thin layer of my dress; his actions belied his words.

"I imagine..."His lips biting the soft skin at the lobe of my ear as his hands encircled me, one slipping in to massage my naked breast, the other sliding between my legs. "I imagine...meeting you somewhere in public...a bar...an office...an elevator...full of people. We stand facing each other. I am wearing a suit, fairly severe cut, but am naked beneath the jacket and short skirt. The other people are looking at us. The men are lusting after me, the women are eyeing you up. You move and thrust me back against the wall of the elevator and kiss me brutally, hands everywhere...just as you are doing now..." His strong but restrained actions begin to take on a wilder edge as he listened and responded.

"...You are dressed for the office, an overcoat over your suit. You raise my skirt to my waist, rip open the buttons of my jacket but I am protected from sight by your body and clothes. You hoist me up, I fumble at your fly and pull your cock out, push it in as you ram me hard against the wall. Everyone knows what we are doing. My naked legs are around your waist, clearly evident from the shape of your overcoat. My eyes are closed as I gasp at the feel of you; the smell of our sex is in everyone's nostrils..."

His breathing changed to short gasps as I too fought for air; his groin was hard and pressing on me as his fingers slipped inside and explored me. "I imagine this and it scares me. You know why? I want others to see what you do to me. To know that I am marked out for you and you can do what you like with me, where you like, how you like. You are proclaiming to other men- she is MINE. Your mark is on me. But you are also proclaiming to other women- I am potent and strong and virile- the ultimate alpha male. That imbalance scares me. Do you understand that? Do you understand what you really do to me?"

Suddenly he pulled away, took my face in his and looked at me very seriously and searching. "One day...I will tell you what you do to me...and then we may both know fear..."But his cryptic comment was lost in the wave of passion and tenderness he poured over me.

A serenity came over me, a sureness of vision that was sharply in contrast to his sweeping passion. Terry seemed insensible to anything but the will to have me. It was a fierce and tender moment as he lifted me from the ground and rested me back against the cool wall, burying his head against my neck, muttering insensibly.

I gently dropped his pants and helped him to enter me; then I hung on and let him free. And boy, was he something to behold. There seemed to be a surge of energy that shot between us. He was as hard as I ever remember him being and each thrust was deep and powerful, ramming into me as if I were nothing but a bundle of rags. Desire for him raged through me as I called on him to love me and then at the moment of his orgasm, as I bucked and came myself, a charge of electric current seemed to radiate from him to me; it stunned me that another human being could make me feel this way. But he could and now I know. He is master of me and I am no longer scared if he knows that, for somewhere deep within him, I believe I am mistress of his heart and it is a greater power over this man than any he could or would wield over me.

But still, it remains to be seen, what he would do if he would allow his desire free rein- and why does he not?

"Bed." His voice sweet and husky, warm with love and satiation, trickled into my ear as he swung me up in his arms and carried me up the stairs. "Your fantasy. A crowded elevator. Doesn't give me much time, does it?" I giggled and teased him that at his age we had to be grateful for anything. Friendly banter returned but I wasn't fooled. His eyes still held both passion and desire; they also held something deeper and I was nearer to some answers than I had been earlier that day.

TERRY

What a week! I went back to the office for a rest, under the pretext of needing some documents, which could easily had been faxed over. I get cabin fever in any one place for longer than a few days. Would have made a hopeless sailor. But all in all, I acquitted myself pretty well. Did what I was told and have to admit the sight of our home coming together like that has had a curious effect on me. I might have been eager for a few hours break but the feeling as I turned into my street, then my own driveway, and saw the welcoming lights of home, gave me a curious sensation of well being. Home. The place where I want to belong.

There's a song that I heard on the radio. Summed it all up for me.

What's worth nothing else but love?
Take a walk down any street now.
Every one of us, in our own little world
Looking for a heart with whom to beat now

What's worth nothing else but love?
I'm prepared to take the heat now
What's worth more than anything else at all
To keep you firmly on your feet now

So fake cool image should be over
'Cause I long for a feeling of home.
Real life, depicted in song
A loving memory
After long, home is a place where I yearn to belong

Where the land meets the sea
She'll be smiling so sweetly now
I hope that she'll be here much longer than I will
My heart loves her with every beat now

So fake cool image should be over
'Cause I long for a feeling of home
Real life, depicted in song
A loving memory
After long, home is a place where I yearn to belong

They always say the tougher they are, the harder they fall. I think I just proved that point. Finished at the office, went for a pint and then saw a flower shop. Bought out nearly the whole place and rushed home. Uma was a little blue when I found her curled up on a window seat, staring out into a rainy early evening sky. Things on her mind again. Bunch of flowers and the sun comes out amidst the rain, her smile radiating through the gloom of the dull afternoon. I forget what I meant to say. We fool about. Prepare a meal. Watch TV. She chats to someone online. I read. The phone rings. I hear her laughter. Flick on a footie match. Doze off. Is this is real life?  Where have I been all these years?

I cannot remember the last time I had a real partner at one of these functions. Oddly enough, it was probably years ago and a Regimental occasion with Penny. I had to give it to my ex-wife - she knew how to work a crowd of aging officers almost as well as she once knew how to work a young lieutenant.

What brought this train of thought up? I have an invitation to an embassy jolly tonight and I want to take Uma with me, even though I am not 100% sure that that is a wise decision. Who knows whether Uma will be an asset or a disaster? This event is schmoozing and, although Uma can talk to anyone, is well read and sophisticated enough for any gathering, she is also extremely resistant to any form of polite behaviour. If she doesn't like the company or finds something someone has said flies in the face of her views, she just lets them have it with both barrels. These people are exactly what will get her goat - oleaginous diplomats from right wing dictatorships in South America whose interest in democracy and social issues doesn't even extend to the servants who take care of their own children.

I have spent a lifetime surrounded by people whose moral codes were at odds with my own. It isn't my job to criticize or challenge the people for whom I work or those who supply me with clients. I have my own opinions- you might be surprised at them if you heard them- but I am a believer that little is to be gained from winning an argument with some wooden headed tosspot at a cocktail party. Use him and make a difference behind the scenes- that is the way more is achieved in life. Never make an enemy until you are ready to win the real prize. These functions bring out the worst in me- I grit my teeth, close down and present the gamest of faces. But it works- they see me as an automaton, a servant of their systems, little more than a mercenary for hire who is only interested in the highest bidder. Perhaps I am.

I was in the bedroom dressing when she walked in from the bathroom. I was aware of her sitting at the dresser, the haphazard scattering of cosmetics and beauty products spilling all over; I smiled inwardly, glad of the sliding doors that could close off all this from view. I cannot abide clutter. She cannot function without it. What a pair we are. Just then she stood up and turned round as I bent slightly to check my bowtie in the mirror. She took my breath away.

Now Uma knows how to dress. She is like a chameleon with clothes and styles, always experimenting and selecting a theme for any occasion. Mostly she gets it right, although there have been some notable exception (or is that my conservatism showing?) She can play fashion victim, sexy temptress, designer chic, urban grunge, sweet and demure. Tonight it was elegance personified, but with an eclectic edge that would mark her from the rest immediately. Is that what I wanted- to stand out in a crowd? Hardly.

Her outfit was oriental in effect. She was wearing a silk sarong skirt, curving like a second skin to her with a sensuous pleat arranged down the front, falling between her legs. The material was a rich red and gold. Above she wore a high necked blouse of a sheer lace, over a silk bandeau. The hint of her bare skin through the see through top was tantalizing although nothing was actually on show. At her neck was a Victorian locket that she normally wears on a gold chain. I gave it to her. She never takes it off. Her hair was piled high- not sure how she did it but it looked longer than it actually was, with a few tendrils of curls hanging here and there, emphasizing her long slender neck. Heavy ornate earrings of silver and semi-precious stones, Indian in style, hung from her ears and she was made up subtly, pale colours, luminous eyes and glossy lips. A silk wrap in a shimmering gold was thrown over one shoulder, Thai style, and her feet were in embroidered Chinese slippers. Amazing. She looked exotic and refined, ladylike and bewitching all at the same time. I no longer cared if people noticed us both. I wanted others to see this woman at my side and for it to be a statement.

"How do I look?"

"Wonderful." Words failed me. I kissed her on her lips, tasted her minty sweetness, inhaled the heady perfume she was wearing, something strong and cloying, not her usual light fragrance. It made my head swim slightly. She broke the spell, pushing me away playfully, arranging my tie, brushing down my jacket, smiling. She had enjoyed the compliment. I realize I do not give her enough.

It's late in the evening
She's wondering what's there to wear now
She puts on her makeup
She's brushing her long dark hair
And when she asks me
Do I look all right?
I say, my darlin', you look wonderful tonight

UMA

He had spent the entire day sprawled on the couch like a beached whale, watching Rugby. He barely moved except to go for a pee- if he could have found a way to do that by proxy he would have done. I went out to the salon, did some supermarket shopping, had coffee with Emma and her little boy Gregory and returned home. I swear he hadn't moved.

"Terry...are you going to lie there all day?" I moaned as I tried to clear up the cans of beer, newspapers and supplements, remains of snacks and the overflowing ashtray (this from the man who swears he has given up smoking).

"Hey...you're not invisible, ya know?" I was in his line of vision i.e. blocking his view of the enormous hulks throwing themselves after the elliptical ball of his dreams.

"I'm trying to clear up after you. This place is a pigsty. Are you planning to watch that all day long?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Look, it's the first round. Lots of matches."

"You don't have to watch every one, you know."

"I had to watch Oz thrash the Samoans. Then it was the All Blacks - fucking 76- 6 against the Eyeties. Should have seen their faces when they did the Haka. The Azzuri nearly shit themselves. Reckon I could be related to some of that team - two players called Thorne on it."

Forgive me if I don't translate. I quite like Rugby but in normal doses; not nine hour all-day marathons.

"You're not a Kiwi. And your thighs combined would not add up to one of theirs, so if you are related, then you are the runt of the family." I laughed and had a quick perve on the All Black team as they charged about. Bloody hell, they are big men- they would dwarf Terry. "Are they as big all over, do you reckon, Tez?"

He groaned. "Might know you would only have one thing on your mind. Shut up and go and do something useful. You're distracting me."

Jumping in front of the box, I pulled up my T-shirt. "Bet this distracts you more!" I teased, baring my breasts. Terry simply stood up, lifted me out of the way and plonked me at the door. " 'Fraid not, love, Take a bigger pair than yours to put me off my game." I lurched over, picked up a cushion and lobbed it at him; he punched it away easily.

"Aw, come on, Terry. When this has finished, take a break..."

"A break? Springboks are on next and then England..."

"Bloody hell! That will make almost nine hours of Rugby. How can anyone watch nine hours of anything?"

"Back to back Crowe films. You've done longer marathons than that. Plus the World Cup footie. You watched it all day long."

"Footie is different. The men are better looking."

He snorted. "Thought you liked them big and beefy."

"No, I have big and beefy at home messing up my lounge. In my fantasy world the men are all soccer players, lean and fast. You don't think I perve on you when I'm thinking about it, do you?"

Knew that would get him going. He tackled me, showing that he hadn't completely turned into a couch potato, and we were very soon in an extremely intimate scrum. "Get off! Stop rubbing your beard on me...I'll be covered in rashes tonight!"

He rolled back laughing and ran his hand over the thick growth. Terry hadn't shaved in about ten days and was sporting a decent beard. "Better get rid of this later- can't go out tonight looking like Grizzly Adams or scruffy Crowe."

"No- keep it, keep it!" I begged. "Just tidy it up. I love you with a beard."

He shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno. Not my style."

"Then shock them for once. Go on...I dare you."

He laughed. "Like bearded men, do ya?" I shot him a warning look and he laughed again, humped against my leg and then lifted me up. "Right, you can piss off now, second half. Go and put the kettle on, I'm thirsty." I gave him the bird and he sniggered, settled back in and I made him a cuppa. That man lives the life of Reilly. How wonderful to be able to give it to him.

We were going out tonight. I had spent about two hours getting ready- Terry wandered up half an hour before we were due to go out, showered, trimmed his beard and dressed. He looked like God's gift to women. As I watched him adjust his tie and cummerbund, I observed him. He isn't vain about his looks but he simply knows what he wants to look like and when he achieves that he is satisfied. Then he doesn't give it a second thought. It must be really weird to be a man. Why don't they ever say: "Does my bum look big? Am I getting thicker round the waist? Is that the beginning of a double chin? Is that a wrinkle?" I nearly had a heart attack the other day 'cos I found a grey pubic hair. I was depressed all day. Terry looked at me in complete bewilderment "If it bothers you, pull it out then." As if I hadn't done that immediately. It was the thought that I was getting old that worried me. What next? Will my teeth fall out? My tits sag? Will I start reading the obituaries in the newspaper like my Mum and go around gleefully saying, "Ooooh, you know who has died?..."

Back to Terry. He looked magnificent. He is magnificent. My heart missed a beat at the sight of him. At least I passed muster. He seemed pleased at my outfit and said some really beautiful things. I just wanted him to be proud of me tonight, not to let him down. This was business and it mattered that I appeared to be an appropriate 'wife' for him. These things count in the corporate world however much it bugs me that I might merely be viewed as his arm candy. Mind you, I guess that is what I am. Why fight it any more?

TERRY

Uma raised her eyes to the Victorian elegance of the embassy building, set back in its well appointed but heavily secured grounds in a quiet close in Belgravia. It was the residence of the ambassador of a South American state, which was struggling against a right wing opposition, raging inflation and mass unemployment. This property seemed a little ostentatious in the circumstances, far more so than the discreet Swiss residence across the road, or the Canadian embassy at the end of the circle. In fact it seemed an inappropriate excess, typical of the regime.

"They could build a few schools and hospitals with the sale of this monstrosity," Uma muttered as they left the taxi and strolled to the gates.

"Tink, hold onto your principles, by all means, but keep them to yourself tonight. My job requires me to schmooze with these types. I don't have to approve of them," I replied with a warning tilt of my head. I got this mental image of her sounding off and several clients walking.

I presented my invitation to the guards who checked me off the list and gave a cursory search. We were nodded through. The long driveway was flanked by ornamental bushes lit with twinkling lights, a rather tacky touch against the sombre elegance of the red stone building with its Gothic turrets and cathedral windows. Two large pines in tubs by the entrance sported even larger lights - it was their National Day celebration.

A butler welcomed us, took my overcoat and the warm jacket that Uma had worn, while she rubbed one slender ankle against the other, a sure sign of discomfort, and looked up at me for courage. She was nervous and that could be very good or very bad. I was glad she wasn't drinking- she'd lost the toss to drive home.

"Terry...I feel really nervous. I'm sure I'm going to fall on my face or come out of the loos with my skirt tucked in my knickers..."

"Hey...calm down! They're just a bunch of freeloaders. Embassies are full of them. These people are basically civil servants who are paid shit but live on expenses. They eat out every night they can, attend any gathering that offers free booze and support any cause that doesn't require them to open their wallets. Their kids' education is paid for, they drive limos provided by the embassy...when they return home they live in a semi on a middle class estate. It's all show. The poorer the country, the more flamboyant they present themselves. Don't be put off. You are a brilliant, beautiful and talented woman- they rarely meet such people in their self obsessed world of toadies and corrupt fixers."

I squeezed her hand and called a waiter over who served me with a beer, Uma with fresh orange. She giggled: "Where's the platter of gold wrapped choccies?" I didn't know what she was talking about until she mentioned some famous TV advert which I had clearly never seen. But then I dwell in a parallel world where I am privy to secrets that could bring governments down but have so little grasp of popular culture that I thought Coldplay was a remedy for influenza.

UMA

It was nerve wracking. So many hoity toity people with their noses stuck up the backsides of the even more important people. I didn't know anyone or anything. Terry just grabbed my hand and told me I could do it, but I wasn't convinced. I wished I was drinking and then was relieved that I wasn't - I would have got plastered, fallen on my face or got thrown out. It's happened before.

By now we had left the marble entrance hall and found ourselves in a large reception room milling with a certain type of person that I recognized immediately. Although this was a more cosmopolitan crowd, it was the sort of mix than one saw at fundraisers at the university when I was there. Most of the men were heading towards middle age with wives who looked a generation younger. It was as if they all followed some sort of cloned pattern where, as the clock ticked on their lives they knew at each given second where they should be on the 'socially acceptable' agenda.

They even looked alike. The men were a little overweight but probably golfers who went to the gym a few mornings a week before the office and then overindulged at night. They were tastefully dressed and tanned, well-groomed and had good dental work. There weren't many other plusses. Their wives were varied; plump, over-dressed and adorned with too much jewellery; sleek, bone thin and supercilious, wishy- washy blondes; Asian and south American beauties- ex-models and airline stewardesses whose husbands were generally the most unappealing and sleazy- that factor seemed inversely proportionate to the radiance of their women. All spoke of young children- they were clearly second wives.

I thought how odd to think of all these aging men with young families, courtesy of some middle-aged itch they had scratched- a just reward for priapism, although they would probably not have known what the word meant. It amused me to feel smug and superior and then I thought of Terry - what else would we be if we had married and had children? I am five years' his junior and he has a nearly grown up son. In a couple of years we would be at the same stage.

Terry was recognized by quite a few people, by friendly greeting, a pat on the back, even a flirtatious glance. The ambassador himself came forward and shook his hand warmly; they exchanged a subdued conversation while I twiddled my thumbs and made small talk to the wife, an eccentric woman dressed in a heavy brocade evening gown, expensive but unsightly. It marked her out as a dignitary in that fashion-disaster Royal style. There was even a cachet to dressing badly it would seem.

Senora Gonsalves-Chinea , the ambassador's wife, was drunk and her speech was already slurred; her hair, thin and wispy, showed bald spots and I noticed a suspiciously bright gleam in her eyes. It was something I normally recognized in the occasional student- a warning sign that they were not coping and using uppers or downers or whatever to get them through exams. I wondered why a woman like this wasn't given help and then watched a waiter serve her yet another malt on the rocks.

We mingled and schmoozed and I smiled coyly when Terry introduced me, then cringed inwardly as I was dismissed by most as a mere piece of arm candy, patronized by the men, ignored by the wives. It was an uncomfortable experience but a curiously fascinating one that I found myself observing as if beneath a microscope, my historian's eye seeing this as a living source and a valuable point of comparison to some of my own social studies in my period. There was little to distinguish here between the vain incestuous social world of an embassy at the turn of the third millennium or that of the second century Rome or eighteenth century London- Maximus and Jack would have recognized the atmosphere well.

Terry's behaviour intrigued me, too. He was deferent without being obsequious, rather quiet, and his speech was clipped and brusque. The military man in him was showing and he conducted himself impeccably, if appearing a little colourless. He never initiated a topic of conversation but always appeared sufficiently well-informed to reply without appearing to dominate the conversation or know too much.  His views were conventional but vaguely drawn- he was not committed to any political system or philosophy, making an art of the bland and evasive reply. It occurred to me that he was working the crowd and never let down his guard for a minute, even when he appeared to be relaxed and informal. As hard as it was for me to play that game, I determined that I would do the necessary for his sake; it seemed a small effort for all the happiness he has brought me recently - and then I grinned inwardly at my attitude. This from the woman who used to flinch if a man opened a door for her. 

TERRY

I shouldn't have worried in the least. She charmed the pants off every man and won the eternal enmity of every woman. I suppose it is obvious she would- no one plays a role quiet as cleverly as Uma. Today she was my consort and carried it off to the hilt. She even had a senior member of the MoD turning cartwheels and he was a guy I had been trying to approach for months. Wouldn't let me through the door- went to Harrow and Cambridge with Sir Geoffrey Luthan, who had clearly queered TOL's pitch with them. But Luthan had made a few cock-ups recently and the government was far from happy with them. Maybe this could play to our advantage... It began with:

"Oh you. Still trying to worm your way in with the big boys, Thorne?" Then he noticed Uma. "I don't think I've had the pleasure....?"

She smiled coyly. "I am Terry's wife."

"Really...by Jove, didn't know you were married, man..."

I made an effort at a smile, one of those self-satisfied smirks of mine, and let the old bastard fall for her charms. After a while I excused myself and wandered off, leaving them talking. Moseyed back with a fresh drink and he was being reeled in. "Terry, we must get together one night for dinner. Call me on Monday at the office...and you must bring your charming wife..."

Now I know why men get married. I thought it was because they weren't supposed to be happy all their life. Don't tell her I said that, will you? So I relaxed and drank too much and had rather a better time than I had expected. Uma leaned over and whispered to me as the minister departed. "Who's that old fart?

I laughed. "Just some old bloke with a hard on for my woman. Keep this up and Dino will be turning somersaults. I've had enough. What about you? I want you at home. Very quickly."

Uma grinned although she looked tired beneath her gaiety. "Don't worry. I'll put my foot down." I groaned but I knew I'd had too much alcohol and would have to let her drive.

She looked up at me and said "Let's go home, sweetie. Do you feel all right?"

I just returned her gaze. "More than all right. Wonderful."

We go to a party and everyone turns to see
This beautiful lady that's walking around with me.
And then she asks me, 'Do you feel all right?'
And I say, 'Yes, I feel wonderful tonight.'

UMA

Well all good things come to an end. All bloody awful ones do too apparently, because eventually we managed to extract ourselves and steal away. Driving home was fun. Terry sat there stony faced saying "Slow down. Change gear. Use your fucking indicators etc.," Terry at his most charming. Apparently he has a headache, too. That cracked me up. I told him that excuse would never work with me. He looked over and glared. I love it when he does that.

Surprisingly he fell asleep and I wondered if he had drunk more than I had thought. When I woke him up at home, his hands felt hot- so did his head. Poor baby, that early morning jog in the rain this morning must have given him a chill. No wonder he had been so lethargic all day. My superhero had the 'flu.

He was fairly groggy but bravely amorous. I managed to bat his hands away, get him to bed and then sort myself out. Joining him later, expecting to find him flat out, he rolled back and spoke, staring at the ceiling. "Uma, you were wonderful tonight. I really appreciated your support. Just thought I'd tell you."

I switched out the light and turned back to hug him but he was already asleep. How he does it, I'll never know. But I didn't care. I just felt wonderful that night.

I feel wonderful because I see
The love light in your eyes.
And the wonder of it all
Is that you just don't realize how much I love you.

It's time to go home now and he's got an aching head,
So he gives me the car keys and I help him to bed.
And then he tells me, as I turn out the light,
He says, My darling, you were wonderful tonight.
Oh my darling, you were wonderful tonight

Sick men are the worst thing in the world. Terry woke up with a high fever, sore throat and behaved like a wounded bear. This is a man who could walk all day with a bullet wound and make no bones about it at all or have the shit kicked out of him on the Rugby field and just laugh. But the common cold. Oh dear...that he cannot put up with.

He moaned and whined all day. Nothing suited him. He was too hot, too cold, thirsty, hungry, had no appetite, bored, couldn't sleep, felt groggy, his head hurt... I was up and down the stairs like a yoyo. I made him chicken broth. Isn't that what you are supposed to do? I thought he was going to throw it at me. He wanted proper food. I made him some. He couldn't eat it and said he felt like throwing up.

"Terry...please just let me call a doctor and make an appointment. You need to be knocked out with some real meds and sleep this off."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Cos I can't fucking get out of bed." That was when I realized how rough he was feeling. I realised it even more when he decided he wanted to pee. He couldn't walk straight and I had to support him. He was reeling and dizzy. I managed to get him to the bathroom and told him to sit down and pee. He refused. What is wrong with men? So I had to prop him up while he fumbled around- finally I took his dick for him and held it. God even his dick was hot, poor thing.

I decided to freshen him up and got him eventually to sit on a chair in the bathroom while I ran a warm bath and put some essential oils in to help him sleep. He smelt lavender and started whinging again. "Not perfume? Heather wears that...it's lavender..."

I took no notice, undressed him and helped him into the bath. "Stay there while I change the sheets, they are drenched in sweat..."

"Where the fuck you think I'm gonna go?" he muttered, charmlessly. 

By the time, I returned, he was asleep in the bath. I really didn't want to wake him - sleeping dogs and all- but I couldn't leave him in the cooling water. So the rigmarole began again. Wake him up, torrent of abuse, help him out, stagger around a bit under his weight, wrap a towel around him, walk him over to the bed, dry him off while he moans that I am hurting him. Hurting him? With a fluffy towel?

Next came the pyjama argument. "I'm not wearing those."

"Terry, you should, you have a fever, you are sweating a lot."

"They will make me hotter."

"Then I change them. You'll be more comfortable."

"No." I gave up. If he wants to sweat naked he can. He is such a stubborn bugger.

"You know, I don't know why they bother with developing nerve gas. They should just spray the common cold on the enemy troops. Cheaper and more effective. They could call it 'get on your fucking nerves' gas."

He looked at me with disdain and complained I was making him feel ill. I ask you - men!!

Then there was the thermometer argument. "I'm not putting that in my mouth. I've got a temperature. You don't need to take it."

"It's not going in your mouth. It's going up your bum." No chance.

"You want to die?"

"You're too weak to fight me."

"Don't try it. I'll take you with me. Touch me and you are dead." Be like that, tough guy.

When he finally dragged himself from his bed, after a few miserable days saved only by the Rugby occupying him for hours, I was delighted that he was eager to return to the office. In recovery he got remarkable amorous- not that I mind but he wanted it night and day 'cos he was bored - and I do occasionally like to stop for air.  I now understand why men must go out to work or war. It is to keep them from hanging around their women all day and driving them to distraction.

So we have survived moving. We are established in our family home. The king is in his castle. And I am feeling lousy. Do you reckon I've got the 'flu?