Paris.

My girlfriend and husband live there. I have not seen her in a year.

'Come over for the weekend', she says.

'I am going to Paris', I coo to my Imaginary Friend.

'When are we leaving?', he answers enthusiastically.

'Next weekend. We?' I ask. Did he say 'we'?

'Perfect. Let's go by Eurostar, and don't pack too many clothes. You won't need them.'

Paris, with my gorgeous Imaginary Friend, a pair of jeans and a top. My lovely girlfriend waiting with open arms.

That is the weekend, isn't it? The weekend when I make love with you.

He looks at me in a way that always makes me feel like he can re-arrange my memories at a stroke.

'We have waited enough, you and I.'