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When I first landed in London, my brother Scott's friends let me doss on their couch while I got myself sorted with a job and shit. Like all newcomers and tourists I wanted to see the sites and soak up the atmosphere, so Madame Tussauds was to be my first port of call.

I was at Madame Tussauds, dressed in my All Blacks shirt (choice eh!) and with a red carnation thing wrapped in tin foil, that some lady outside had pinned on my chest for the grand sum of two pounds - while I was in happy, innocent cheerful tourist mode. When this early thirties something strutted over. I'd seen her earlier in the queue outside and at the time fantasized about what it would be with a woman as beautiful as she was.

‘Are you here by yourself?' she asked in a husky German voice.

Not for long I thought.

‘Yeah I just got here, ahh, to England I mean. Anyway, umm. Hi, my name is Bryce.'

‘Hello Bryce.' she said taking my hand and shaking, it all warm like.

This was too good. Put myself out there, been rewarded.

‘Nice to meet you.' ...

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