My mum and I were discussing where I draw the lines between privacy and strict reality on my blog.  What I write about me here is true, but it’s not the whole picture.  It can’t be: the whole picture of my life involves so many other people, and they also have to be able to choose how much of their life goes on the internet. My mum noted that the only thing I really say about Mr D on the blog is that I think he is dreamy.  (awwww…) I didn’t really put together exactly what she was saying in this statement for a long time. Not even when my sister, the Naiad, mentioned that of course she didn’t read my blog, “you call your husband Mr Dreamy on it!” (insert suitably little sister-esque gagging sounds here). Nope, it took someone calling me ‘The Dreamstress’ out loud in front of my sister, and then mentioning ‘Mr Dreamy’ in the next sentence for her to realise that he is Mr Dreamy because I am the Dreamstress, …