Then one day, not to put too fine a point on it, shit happened. Helena disappeared. Anna and Irina did not understand why. And then Irina disappeared. And Anna was all alone. Anna was alone for the next sixty years.

So here comes the fourth girl. For her to be introduced at such a late stage of the story requires artistic license, so you are just going to have to bear with me and accept that as circumstances go, she got involved. Here's where it gets interesting: Helena hadn't disappeared, well not literally, someone had saved the day and saved her life.

And girl number four found her. After sixty years, after being hidden in a wall in a house in Lodz, after displacement and a lifetime of wondering, she had been found. Helena was alive and well and suddenly, thanks to girl number four, on the phone to Anna, crying and laughing and talking like nothing had happened to spoil the endless summers and the ice cream and the music.

So what about Irina? The missing girl? Well girl number four tried her best; she asked everyone, the saints, the scholars, everyone who might know. Until she went to the place where the ultimate truth lies and asked: Where is Irina Borenstein? But they had never heard of her. No one had ever heard of her, it was like she had never existed. So, that's six million and one.

Helena and Anna met up again. Girl number four never saw either of them again but she thinks of them all the time, like she did today for some reason. And at least three people know that a nine year old girl growing up in the Warsaw ghetto did exist and deserves to be more than a name that never even made a list.

__this was first posted in September 2006 but Irina will soon have made the list at Yad Vashem. I promise.

Last year when I was in Australia and so lost I didn't know which end was up, a labrador dog came into my life. People come into your life for a reason and so do animals. My friend didn't need another dog, but there he was anyway, small and blonde and beautiful and suddenly in her garden and in my life. There were days when I thought I would go completely blind with the pain that was inside me, but everything changed when Toby came to town. He grew big, I mean huge, he wagged his tail so hard every time he saw us that it could have powered enough electricity for a small town, but there was something about his eyes that gave me a lifeline.

Toby could see right into my soul and in his eyes I could see the power of the universe. I could go on endlessly about how he would suddenly get up off the floor, come over and stick his big face on my thigh and stare up at me, or how he would sit beside me and cuddle right up close as if he knew what I was feeling, but all dogs are good at that. We could be like that too but we just never learn to read the signs in others. We could do it if we stopped thinking about ourselves alone, like Toby.

He taught me patience, because by God you need patience with a puppy; but mostly he taught me how to love again. Toby, I don't know who you were, or who sent you, but you came when you were needed the most and you gave of yourself so selflessly. To people who would say that you were just a dog, you didn't get the chance to experience Toby's love in your life, to have that full on joy to the world experience or be taught what is the most difficult thing for human beings to do - love unconditionally.

Nineteen months is not a long time to be on this Earth, even for a labrador dog. Often I have wished I wasn't so sentimental about animals because when they die, the pain, the loss of that unconditional love is almost too much to endure. But if I hadn't had him, I'd have lost so much more. Today has been a sad day because mourning the loss of a beloved animal reminds me that I still have so much learn and so much to give and I'll never quite match up to his high standards. But then again, he wouldn't want me to, he loved me for being me. He loved us all equally, the good and the bad, he made no distinction.

Today should be a celebration of pure love. Because love is pure and it rises to the top of all the mess in our lives and we should embrace it and reach for it whenever we can, no matter where it comes from. Today is the day that love came to town.

For Toby - March 2006 - December 2007

This past year has seen Leah fight back; her tiny body has been attacked and hurt and injured more times than you think you would be able to bear on your own body - and yet she still fights back. Laying down in defeat is not her style, nor is self-pity or depression or rage. Perhaps you need to be a four year old to be able to do that, but knowing her is a lesson in life for us all.

Last week, Leah celebrated her fourth birthday, unaware as always of the poignancy that this particular birthday brought. It was a day for cake, presents and a bouncy castle. The police closed off the road around her party venue so that everything could be organised. That's how highly she is regarded in our little Spanish village. A superstar.

Superstars, as is their right, win awards, and so it was fitting then that last night, Leah won the Child of Courage Award at the first ever Pride of Spain Awards, her victory sealed by votes cast by the public. Votes no doubt cast by the entire village, people who have rallied around the family from the beginning, sending the bright white light of love to their stricken baby over and over again.

The light of love, the healing kiss of hope, travels fast and travels far. People in New Zealand and Japan, people in South Africa and Ireland, who don't know this little girl, have devoted hours of their time to help. From famous All Blacks to 15 year-old schoolboys - there is something about Leah, who in a world of sick and desperate children, has inspired people to do something. She is the single inspiration for the formation of a new foundation, the BKS Foundation, which will continue to raise money globally for children and their parents in the same situation.

At her fourth birthday last week, Leah bounced on her bouncy castle as if the lifeforce itself was propelling her. She had to be pinned in a chair beside her beautiful sister Tasha to have her photograph taken (again) when all she wanted to do was hurl herself around the castle defying the odds, defying death, defying just about everything that is ever, ever gonna try and stand in her way for the rest of her life. It was the biggest display of lust for life that I have ever seen; it was breathtaking in its sheer power.

To those of us who have come to know Leah, her sister Tasha and parents Dave and Cal, her win at the Pride of Spain Awards was no surprise. There simply could be no other recipient of the Child of Courage Award than Leah. It was written in the stars, it was a done deal, every angel in Heaven cast a vote for her.

When people are forced outside their comfort zone, only two things can happen. They can lay down and die, or they can stand up and fight back. Standing tall is what Leah's parents have done, their humility, gentleness and grace and their unshakeable faith in their daughter and their family bond saying as much about the strength of the human spirit as Leah's own fight for life and health.

Leah still has at least 15 months of intensive treatments to endure before the dedicated doctors in Alicante will even consider giving her a chance of life without chemotherapy. It is still a long and winding path this child of courage has to walk but she will never walk alone.

for more information on The BKS Foundation and how you can help please email bksfoundation@gmail.com

And how did I get my hands on such a treasure? Well from the daddy of all things kalashnikov, from the General himself. Mikhail and I shared a couple of shots one evening. He is quite by far the most enigmatic and most humble person I ever met and left me with more than his clever invention for memories.

I've been reading several reviews lately of a new book about the AK-47 and its impact on the world. Beloved of armies, guerillas, terrorists and Quentin Tarantino characters, when you absolutely, positively gotta kill everyone in the room, the AK-47 is your only weapon of choice.

Most people know the history of how Mikhail Kalashnikov came to invent his deadly weapon, a weapon that also fires underwater, and the new book claims he wished he'd invented a lawnmower instead.

But on a cold day in London, in full Russian dress uniform, the most gentle of human beings, slightly bewildered by the all fuss being made of him, spoke about the mother of all necessity - survival. Mr Kalashnikov has been an inventor all his life - he invented a vodka glass for the Russian navy that would never tip over, not even on the highest of seas - and lately in his old age and not exactly the richest man in Siberia inspite of all his achievements - he put his name to a brand of vodka.

This is not a paean to a weapon but to the man I met. I have a wonderful photograph showing the moment when he, surrounded by photographers, saw me trying to sneak a photo of him on my phone and reached out to me. The photograph I have was taken by one of the snappers present and given to me later as a surprise gift. The General and I are laughing and look like we're down the pub having a few swift vodkas...which technically we were.

But that evening, at a party given in his honour, I received his favourite invention. The one that people can't resist touching, can't resist trying to defeat. Everytime I take my Kalashnikov out of the cupboard and fill it with Russia's finest, I think of that humble, honourable man and how I'd been lucky enough to meet a whole lot of history in one person.

Russian toasts are notoriously long and sentimental, he said, and once you open a bottle it must be finished. So even when I'm completely whacked on vodka, I'll never spill a drop, thanks to my Kalashnikov.

Now before I go any further, let me explain a little about Spain and how it deals with its children. The school buses are luxury coaches, they come on time, every day a parent is on board (having drawn up a rota with all the other parents), the police close off the surrounding streets during school opening and closing times and the buses are paid for, in the case of state schools, by local government.

A Spanish child would never be stolen from her bedroom because a Spanish child would never be left alone to guard a pair of infants while she slept. A Spanish child would be in the restaurant with extended family and friends all taking responsibility for her. And she would never be seen by any other Spaniard in the restaurant as a "bloody child who shouldn't be here."

Community means everything here. If Spain is losing a lot of its individuality because of EU inclusion, community responsibility is one thing (apart from endemic law breaking), thankfully, that remains.

Now back to the kids at the bus stop. My little man, as I said, every morning, practically jumps off the pavement with excitement, his face full of expectancy for the day ahead. And every day, his brother pulls him back from the edge of the pavement, while a posse of adults stand guard.

And I got to wondering, that little boy, cute as a button, will he spend the rest of his life heading for the edge? Will he always have someone to pull him back? Will he even want that?

And if he does always prefer to live on the edge, will people realise, will even he realise, he's not drowning, but waving?

But where is it? Where am I going?

Of course, it being Finland and therefore Scando-paradise when it comes to the council doing what it should, no one suffered from snow attack. Not like back home where three flakes constitute a national emergency. The buses all came at the precise moment they were supposed to, no matter how much snow fell overnight it was cleared from the roads by morning and generally even though it was often -40C during the day (and your nostrils stick together when you breathe), it was beautiful with clear pure air and skies (and icicles like Excalibur waiting to pang down on your head).

I did, however, venture into the snow one night, well, it was probably the wee small hours actually. Ever heard the saying that God looks after drunks, kids and feisty women? Well I was all three of those that night - the night I was a snow angel.

Apparently I just flew from the house, strangely snatching the housekeys as I went (thank you Lord), wearing very little, urged on by the power of Stolichnaya. While everyone else was struggling to put on their boots, I was already out there, in a massive pile of snow, waggling my little legs and bare feet and getting snow hair.

I arrived back breathless and snowy only to find no one else had moved apart from trying to put their boots on in their drunken fug. You have to make your own entertainment on the long snowy nights in Scando-land.....

Honey that's a good question. The minute I point the finger, the road of my life, sang Bob Marley, becomes rocky. The second I criticise someone, someone else is judging me. I think about this everyday and I think about pulling back that heavy curtain made of solid velvet jealousy to let the light in. But it's hard, dammit, it's so hard not to slap a sentence on some fabulously famous rugby player who won't sign a photo to save a terminally ill three year old when other people are offering blood from their bodies for her....it's not just a full time job to not judge, it's a lifetime's work.

But so we get to the real crux of this post. Leah. Three years old, heart like a lion, strength of one too. Got leukaemia. Bad. I mean, BAD. To her, it's just her sore leg. To everyone else, she is something we struggle to understand. How she can endure lumbar punctures (yes plural) and hours and hours of chemo everyday and still smile for the camera; how it's all just a bit of an adventure even though it hurts a wee bit; how she still has spirit and we throw ours to the void in the face of her adversity.

BKS was started out of a love of Leah. And the desire to help her family, who had to give up work to be with her throughout her treatment (and as I write this it's still ongoing). And the subsequent desire to help other children in the same situation. BKS is something I think I have been waiting my whole life to do. It is not easy yet at the same time it feels like I was born to do it. But I struggle with those who ignore requests for help and we don't ask for money. And I try not to judge. But it happens.

I may be as weak as a ten day old kitten when it comes to personal relationships, but when it comes to Leah and kids like her, I'm Marley's lion. BKS may be just one more foundation out there trying to help kids, but this one is born of love. There are people around the world who have never met Leah who are turning themselves inside out for her because I asked them to. This is not the time to condemn those who don't or won't help. This is the year of the lion, the iron zion lion. This is it.

Of course I am talking about friends. Having more than one lover is just a recipe for disaster. Not that I would know anything about that of course, I'm really not the heartbreaking kind and besides, things like that always come back to bite you on the bum at some point. But due to the content of my last post, I thought maybe it was the right time to mention that sometimes you just get lucky with your friends. And new friends who come into your life and make you feel that you have known them for a long time and you feel comfortable with them, like your favourite pair of jeans, and you can't explain why this should be.

I have experienced this lately with new friends. Sweet, gentle people. Someone once told me that beautiful people have beautiful friends - and if this is true - then I surely must have done something good to have such beauty in my life. And I am not just talking about the physical, although, that is true of them also.

If a person shows you his or her soul without fear of being denied, then you are in the presence of a soulmate. For what is a soulmate if not someone who has given you the very essence of who they are? And that is the gift you treasure forever.

And now it has been brought to my attention that a whole year has almost come and gone since the Taoist gave me this platform and when did that happen? How did a whole year just go, just like that? And where is the love and why are people scared to show it, when really there is so little time to find and give your love?

What is the fear in people when love is shown to them? Some act like they never had love and they want me to go without too. I am talking, of course, about all love, not just the kind of love you give to someone in a bed for 48 hours straight and even though I know this flies in the face of all those hours with Madge in Kabbalah class, we only get one shot at this life, one chance to make it all right, just one chance. And mostly we throw it away.

Over the last few years, I have lost people I cared about very much to a terrible disease and then the possibility of me joining the ranks was brought abruptly to my attention last year when I was in Sydney. Now there is a three year old child seriously ill with cancer and we have embarked upon, me, my sister and Stan Afeaki, a little fundraising foundation for her and it's hard, it's so hard and slap my thigh and call me naive but I really, really didn't count on people's blunt disinterest. And I struggle with my feelings about this on a daily basis.

I've always been too emotional, I've always felt too much of other people's pain, but this is part of me and now I am old enough not to make any apologies for who I am. I have been around the world and seen astonishing beauty, sadness and ugliness and I have been blessed by the kindness of strangers; angels in the midst of the unbelievers, their love shown unconditionally, even in the smallest way - and angels, like love, find you, not the other way around:

so, to the man at Hawaii airport who knelt on the ground and cradled my stricken sister's head in his lap until the ambulance came; so, to the woman on the train from Buenos Aires to Mendoza who shared her food with me upon the realisation that all I had for the 23 hour trip was a bottle of water and a biscuit; so, to the South African rugby team who sat in a circle around my sister all night while she slept to protect her from being sexually harassed at Dubai airport; so, to the six year old child who spent her savings to buy me a gift; so, to Diego Ghersi, an officer and a gentleman; so, to the unknown German man at Frankfurt airport, aka the Hellmouth, who saw me in distress and offered his help; so, to the unknown man in a London restaurant who mysteriously paid for my dinner; so, to the people who for some reason smile at you across a busy street; so, to the people who don't build a fortress around their hearts, I thank you for your love.

Time goes by so quickly that a year seems like no time at all. Show your love, give it unconditionally, whether or not it is returned, whether or not you think it is "deserved". It's the most difficult thing in the world to do, but it's the only way...

It's funny because I have thought of him from time to time, wondered what he is doing, where he is living and what, if anything, I would say, if we ever ran into one another again. The scenarios change according to my daily mood, as you might imagine. But I often wondered if there would be any feelings left.

Now I know. And the answer is:

What was I thinking?

And yet there is still a tiny little corner of my heart, so tiny, not even NASA's spaceship or Google Earth's technology could locate it, that when I think of him it reminds me that so many people go through life incapable of giving or receiving love and no matter what, I am never going to be one of them.

I met a lot of people along the way, but the shining stars who lit up my life: sweet Sally, free-spirit Fran, Lynne and her writer's block tips, Stephen and his Scando pop (who'd have thought Kylie's Put Your Hand On My Heart could be so desperately sad?), Khoa Do for making Footy Legends and also for being my escort, if only for one night, Rachel, Phillip, Frank & Jenny, the boy in Tonga who said I looked like an angel, the boy in Berkelouw Books for giving me the hot thigh sweats on a Thursday afternoon...

But wait there is more, dear reader. Walking around the streets of Auckland I felt a mixture of sadness and joy and couldn't shake away the tears. I made wonderful friends here and I'm heartsore to be leaving. In one way or another, these people made my life here an absolute pleasure and gave me magic and made my world a better place - Katie, Angelina, Hayley...and the boys who put a smile on my face - Jezza, Tana and Dougie. Thanks. For every second.