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Before I begin a new story, a little plotting must take place. First, my hero, my alpha male. Not essentially tall, dark and handsome, but he must be robust, authoratative, a commanding presence. With a slow, heart-stopping smile....
To make the story live in my mind and heart, I place myself as the heroine. So, there I am now, treading softly down a wide, red-carpeted staircase, dressed in a to-die-for gown from the Strictly Come Dancing wardrobe. Its white, fur-trimmed hem swirls around my dainty ankles, and divine, timeless, show-tune music fills the air in sensuous waves....
As I reach the last step, John Wilson, renowned conductor of the John Wilson Orchestra – who each year weakens the knees of every female attending his glamorous Promenade Concert at the Royal Albert Hall – is waiting for me. Still conducting, he holds out one hand to clasp mine, his dark eyes with their devilish twinkle, look down into mine. At the moment we are singing together, in perfect harmony, "You'll never walk alone" from Carousel (he's a proficient multi-tasker). Then he lowers his head, his lips are a whisper away from mine, and then, and then.......
Oh for heaven's sake! Now the dog is asking to go out for a wee.
I sigh, tremulously.
And pick up my pen and start scribbling.