I was told that when you hit forty men stop looking at you. It's true, until you slip on a mini-skirt.

I was told that when you hit forty men stop looking at you. It's true, until you slip on a mini-skirt.

In the city, I wake bolt upright in the small hours, convinced that intruders are marauding through our apartment despite Swiss bank-style security arrangements.

Too often we forget that an ideal partner is someone who enhances an already full existence.

When the going gets tough, the prospect of delegating half your responsibilities to a willing volunteer, either to play a supporting role or take over the breadwinning, certainly holds allure.

Having lived a full and stimulating life before I had my kids, I've relished every minute I've had to spend with them and felt a degree of confidence in dealing with their trials and tribulations to date.

In romance we feel the need to zoom in and expound on our partner's foibles in intimate detail; in friendship we tend to do the opposite, avoiding confrontation through fear, lethargy or both.