" Excuse me!" I moaned. "It's all very personal." Simon looked at Rhea and she grunted, pouring some tea into a cup."Of course," Simon told her quietl.... "If you..."Rhea spluttered an interruption. "If you think I am always going to play with you just to stop you having a wank," she said loudly, and Simon went red again."I distinctly remember something in the bible," I told my sister and her eyes widened."Err ... offside! I am not a Christian." You are C of E," I told her, and my little sister. Eagerly awaiting each reply that forces me to look further into myself, to see and feel and think about possibilities never imagined. How has she done this to me with mere words? The immediate understanding between us? The words. The very act of writing. The writing is our safe little world, where there are no constraints. Our little secret. To have a collaborator, so intimate. Like whispering in each others ears. We awaken these things in each other. Hers, lost and now found through my words.. More

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