It’s been a very productive summer, and I shall now begin updating  you with some of my exciting news.

A few weeks ago I met one of the most inspirational mothers ever.

Baroness King of Bow, better known as Oona King, is like me an adopter. Only she is mixed raced and hence had the honour of giving two children in this country a loving home.

Like me, Oona is committed to improving the system of adoption here in the UK so that more children are given a proper shot at life.

I was massively pleased at the first thing she said to me: “I just came back from my summer holiday during which I tend to read the only one book a year I manage to read. This summer it was your book Mexican Takeaway and I loved it.”

Whilst we discussed how badly damaged the system is and in need of reforms, I must admit it’s the wonderful mother she is that I was so honoured to meet. She is a committed, passionate, sensitive woman who gives her children all the love they deserve and is prepared to put her head above the parapet to improve the lives of so many others.

Oona suggested becoming the patron for my campaign, Adoption With Humanity, and if that becomes reality I will be truly honoured.

I had been stressed about it. I had cried and lost sleep over it, and then at 4pm an incredible sense of calm pervaded me. As I stepped out of the car Gaia, took my hand and said, ‘Come on mamma we are late, my best friends must already be there.’ So we ran and laughed, there was calm and smiles and giggles.

And so it was that people from far and not so far joined together in what was one of the most special moments in my life. Some had travelled to Waterstones in Chiswick from their homes nearby. Others had taken planes from Amsterdam, Paris, Rome and Mexico. Even the ones who couldn’t be there ensured their presence; my soul sister Lisa sending me flowers in the colours of the Mexican flag.

I realised that seven out of ten lead characters in the book were there! There was family of course, my gorgeous son Luca arrived with two sets of grandparents, my darling niece Lucia, my brother in law and his wife and my husband Rick who has made this incredible journey with me. Some didn’t tell me they were coming like former flatmates from Rome, Alex, Gianluca and Hani. There was my other soul sister Shannon, Oscar who’d been instrumental in editing my letters to the Mexican authorities, colleague Manny and former colleague Tascha. There was my Italian mummy group – Susy, Laura and Nicoletta who all arrived en famille as did Stevan, the adoption panel member who himself has adopted. And the mythical Patti, great friend and my children’s second (or third?) mother. There were Gaia’s best friends Isla and Lyla with their wonderful parents, and the wonderful Paco (with me in pic) and Lorena, Luca’s godparents who had travelled from Mexico to join us in this special occasion.

Later at the party the numbers swelled. My inspirational and self-effacing friend Miff who has adopted three siblings from the UK came with her husband Steve. Cecile from International Adoption arrived with her little Russian boy. There was Annabel and Ben, who DJ’d all night with Rick, Carol and John and their Thai daughter and my pal Kasia complete with Si, three year old Henry and baby bump. Peter, the brilliant designer of my book cover, logos and websites joined us as did Lena, an writer and author who also advised me on the book. Even with all these people I missed my brothers. I will be seeing them this coming week in Rome when we christen little Luca but I felt incomplete not having them there. But Aurora, the remarkable woman who told me that day that she would make my hopes of a baby come true, will not be.

At the party held at High Road House in Chiswick people drank spicy Tequila shots, ate guacamole and tacos and put faces to names they’d only heard or read about. There was much exclaimation around the room of “Oh that’s you!!”

It took me a couple of hours to settle down to something resembling a pause. I realised that not only were we at least twenty nationalities in total, we were all united in our respect and love for children. We were single parents of both sexes, adopters of children both domestically and internationally, adoptees, natural parents of children, godparents, grandparents, aunties, child-minders, uncles and playmates. I felt honoured and humbled by this most amazing collection of people all of whom joined me for what was much more than a book signing. All of them have been a part of the journey Rick and I have taken, and many are involved in helping me campaign for adoption reform which will be momentous for the UK.

I had no idea where I was going where I started. I have a better idea now but there is much to be done. I am already adding a few chapters for the new edition, and a new epilogue to reflect the arrival of my son Luca and the progress of Adoption with Humanity. In a few weeks I will fly back during our family holiday  for a day to join a meeting at The Times offices to discuss adoption reforms.

It all feels pretty mad. When everyone was waved off, and the visitors were long asleep Rick and I went upstairs. Walking past a box I said, “Gosh so many books still to sell.”

Rick corrected me. “This was never about selling books Fra. It was about positive change for children who deserve a shot in life. Your job has only just begun: it will be hard but I am behind you. Now go to sleep will you?”.

This was reported in The Times yesterday by Social Affairs Correspondent Rosemary Bennett who used my experiences as a case study saying:

“Ofsted’s new inspection regime may in future allow couples like Francesca and Rick Polini to adopt children from care.

“Turned down by Ealing council, West London, where they live, because so few white children in care were seeking adoptive families and they were considered unsuitable to adopt an ethnic minority child, they went on to adopt two children from Mexico. Mrs Polini, 41, wrote Mexican Takeaway about their experiences.

“‘The Government has made a start … it remains to be seen if local authorities will follow it,’” she said.

Thank you again to The Times for being so proactive in promoting the desperate need for a fairer adoption system in the UK which I totally support, and thank you for giving my book a great plug!

Chapter 2, Does Your Cat Speak Spanish?
“Do I look OK?” Rick said as he came into the bedroom, wearing his cream suit and his best tie.
“Uh oh. Cream?”
“I don’t want to wear a dark one. It doesn’t seem friendly enough; too businesslike. They might think I don’t have time for children if I wear that.”
I’d never seen Rick this anxious. He was normally so calm and composed about absolutely everything.
“I think I want to marry you all over again. It means a lot that you’re going along with me on this.”
“Fra, I believe in adoption too. I am not going along with you just because you are stubborn, which you are! I can totally see the point, but I want to know more and see if it is for us. I’m our left brain, remember?”
I collapsed in giggles on the bed. Rick bounced over and gave me a huge hug.
“Careful, you’ll crease the suit.”
“Shut up, you.”
We kissed, then lay there just holding each other close for a while. I had opted for a more casual look than Rick. Smart jeans, a long blue cardigan, and a pair of boots instead of recycled shoes. It was freezing again. In the car, I asked him: “Where do you think you are in your heart, Rick?”
“I find it frustrating that they have to decide for us that we cannot adopt locally. It’s not like there are no children who need a family here in London.”
“I mean what about adoption? How do you feel about it now?”
“I think if we decide it’s worth a shot, we should start the adoption and try to have natural children at the same time.”
“And then let the Universe decide which one is right first.”
“I knew you’d say that! You and your Universe!”

There were times when Rick’s pragmatism and my spiritual outlook clashed, but on the whole our combination worked. We filed into a room with the other couples who were doing the training. There was tea, coffee and biscuits on offer. Everyone seemed very shy. This wasn’t surprising, since for most couples choosing adoption is a public admission that they can’t have children.
We were invited into a room and directed to a circle of chairs. I chose to sit next to a woman who appeared to be alone. Rick sat on the other side of me, munching a biscuit.
“This is what it must be like attending a twelve-step programme,” he whispered.
“Sshh! Someone might hear you!”
The two trainers arrived and introduced themselves. They were both women, and they exuded warm energy. One had an endless mane of hair and wore a long hippie skirt. With her big eyes and enormous glasses, she reminded me of a cartoon character from A Bug’s Life. The other woman wore a suit and smart flat shoes, and sported an elegant short bob.
“Hello everyone, and well done for arriving on time in such bad weather. It shows this means a lot to you. We are trainers for this course, and also we are both international adopters. I have two Bolivian children, and Susan has a Chinese girl as well as a natural one.”
“Oh, good,” I whispered to Rick. “They’ve actually done it.”
“At the end of today you will have understood more about the process, and we will file a report for your council to say whether or not we feel you are ready to start the Home Study.”
No pressure then. We were asked to introduce ourselves and say a little about why we were there. I realised suddenly that we would be putting ourselves on show in public for the first time. Amongst the couples talking about their fertility problems, multiple miscarriages, and failed attempts at in vitro fertilization, we would stick out. God, what were we doing here? Did we have a right to be in that room? I felt slightly ashamed when it was my turn to speak.
“For all intents and purposes we can conceive, but we feel strongly that adoption should play a big part for various reasons.”

It turned out the single woman next to me, who was a Spanish journalist, had also decided on adoption, even though she could have children. At the end of the introduction, one of the trainers gestured towards us and said:
“The three of you are called preferential adopters. This means that you have chosen to build your family via adoption and not because of fertility issues. The rest of you are traditional adopters.”
“What if we wanted to adopt and try and have natural children too?” asked the Spanish lady.
Thank God she asked that one.I was dying to know but didn’t want to appear too radical or anything.
The woman from A Bug’s Life answered.
“You can’t do that. If you happen to fall pregnant during the Home Study you will have to stop the adoption, have your baby, and wait until he or she is at least three years of age before you can start the process all over again. If you have a miscarriage, you will have to wait for two years to grieve and overcome the trauma.”
Two years to overcome a miscarriage! How did they work that out?
“How do you even know if we are trying, anyway?” I joked.
“Your life will never be the same, my dear, once you say yes to the adoption process. Believe me, it’ll feel like a crowd of people are watching you having sex.”
Laughter from around the room. “Seriously, guys, your entire life will be scrutinised every step of the way. Nothing will pass unnoticed.”

Later, when we were let out for lunch, we sat with the Spanish woman and three other couples in a nearby deli, conducting a post-mortem on the morning’s proceedings.
“So which country do you think you would like to adopt from?” asked the Spanish lady.
“We would like to adopt from Russia because my husband has blond hair and mine is dark, so we figured that whether the baby is from the eastern or western part of the country, it will look like one of us,” said one woman.
“We’re going for China, as we want a baby girl at any cost, and all babies for adoptions are girls,” said another woman.
“Anyway, as if I’m going to stop trying in the meantime!” said
Michelle. She and her husband Simon had already attempted I.V.F. a few times.
“What was that all about? What gives them the right to be all Stasi-like about sex?” I said.
“No disrespect to you guys,” said the single Spanish lady, looking around the table, “but it seems almost as if adoption is an industry for infertile people. Unlike those of us who choose, often in your cases it’s a second best, right?”
She may as well have thrown a hand grenade. It was clear that at least one couple were taking her comment personally. The table went quiet.
“Oh, look at the time,” said Rick. “We’d better get back.”
The rest of the day was spent in various exercises, scenarios, and conversations about the pitfalls and challenges of the adoption process. At the end of the day, one of the trainers looked around at us all and said: “It won’t be the same for all of you, and some will handle it better than others. But it’s neither an easy ride nor a short one. You have anything from two to four years ahead of you from this moment. But I am sure you will all be fine. Good luck.”
I felt like I do when my Chinese doctor sticks a million needles in my face, tummy, ears and neck, then calmly says, “You can sleep now till I am back.”
Really?

This book is based on true events. However, the names of all persons connected to our adoption are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The opening instalment from the first chapter, Too White To Adopt.

June 5, 2008
The queue in the customs hall at Heathrow was long, full of weary and bad-tempered travellers, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to be home. We stood behind the yellow line, waiting our turn to be called to the desk.
“Next, please.”
Rick went ahead and put our three passports triumphantly on
the counter.
The agent, her skin pallid, her brows wrinkled, peered at us over her spectacles with suspicion. I wondered if it was because our passports were each of a different nationality; his British, mine Italian, and Gaia’s Mexican. She looked down and then looked up again, this time with a stony visage.
“Where have you been?”
“Mexico,” I said happily.
“For how long?”
“Five months.”
“Why were you there for five months? What were you doing?”
“We were adopting our daughter. This is her,” Rick said.
“Adopting, were you?”
I sensed she was angling for something.
“Yes, we went especially to adopt a child.”
“Is she yours then?”
What a strange question, I thought.
“Of course she is ours,” Rick said proudly. “See? There’s our surnames on her passport”
She shot him a glare, then fixed us with a look that said: Here is another couple trying to cheat me.
“Did you visit the Embassy before travelling?”
“Of course we did.” Rick’s reply was clipped. The poor guy had been suffering food poisoning for weeks and barely had the energy to stand, let alone put up with an inquisition.
“We have all our documents here in case you wish to see them,”
I said helpfully. She ignored me and looked hard at Rick.
“Mr Bowden, I will have to detain this baby and yourselves.”
I gripped Rick’s hand. He looked at me as if to say, “I’ll talk.”
“What are you talking about? This is nonsense.”
The agent wrote something on a piece of paper.
Gaia, who was unsurprisingly exhausted after thirty-six hours of bus and plane travel, began to scream. I ground my teeth and tried not to cry.
“Didn’t you hear? I am detaining your daughter.” She handed
Rick the piece of paper. “Follow me,” she said.
We followed her to a tiny cubicle, where two Mexican girls had already taken up involuntary residence in one corner. They both looked scared. One of them was sobbing. We looked at the paper where she had written Gaia’s name. It read:
Gaia Polini, I am detaining you. I am also confiscating your passport.
“How can you arrest a baby?” I asked. She shot me a look of pure poison, then turned to Rick.
“Listen to me. There are a lot of things you are supposed to have done before you brought that baby into this country. You are supposed to have interviews with social workers, and something called a Home Study…”
I jumped up.
“But we did all that. I can tell you the name of our social worker, and even the name of the person we met today at the embassy before leaving!”
“I am not talking to you. You are not even British.”
This woman was pure bile. I wanted to scream at her, to shake her, to say, “Don’t you understand what we have gone through to bring this child here?”
She ignored the question and then began to address Rick as if he was intellectually challenged.
“Now, Richard. Let me tell you why I have put you in this little room. We are here to protect the welfare of the children, and you clearly haven’t followed the legal steps to get you here. There are
many people like you who try and bring babies illegally into the country.”
God, did she think we were child traffickers? I had to put her right.
“But… but…” I said.
Rick shot me a look that said, Please keep your mouth shut.
Gaia, meanwhile, was yelling at the top of her lungs, despite my best efforts to rock her to sleep. Her nappy was wet, and she was hungry, but I was too scared to say or do anything, I had run out of boiled water to mix with the formula milk, so I couldn’t even comfort her with her bottle.
“Now, what documents, if any, do you have with you?” she asked Rick.
“We have them all,” I said to Rick.
I started pulling them out of the trolley suitcase.
“Home Study…” I was spelling them out one by one to him as I was getting them out, knowing she would hear and realise she was wrong.
“References, CRB checks, finance checks, birth certificates, marriage certificate, psychology report, doctor’s report, certificate of eligibility, Gaia’s birth certificate, adoption order from the court of Colima, ticket of meeting with the British embassy.”
As I finished emptying the bag, a look of surprise appeared on her face. Then she turned to me and said: “I need your passport too.
I am confiscating that also.”
There’s a name for people like us who can have children but choose to adopt instead. We are called preferential adopters. How we got to that point is a result of my family background and political beliefs, Rick’s own beliefs about society, the desire to share our lives with a little one, and a hell of a lot of debate.
Rick and I had been married for two years, but we’d been together for six. We were happy and childless by choice. We were
the stereotypical high-flying couple with dream jobs that took us around the world, often in different directions. We commuted regularly to exotic cities, and for both of us the lifestyle was addictive… for a time. But the novelty had worn off. We began to feel like it just wasn’t quite enough. We had so much to give that it didn’t feel right to keep it all to ourselves. We had gone back and forth with the thought of starting a family. Yet something about having a baby just didn’t seem ‘real’.
Our conversations fluctuated wildly between for and against. We’d talk about how exciting our life was compared to that of our friends with children, but how uninspiring, exhausting, and empty it could be. Relationships need to move forward, and frankly there are only so many weekend breaks you can have before you think: I’ve done this all before. There has to be more. That ‘more’ was a family.
Falling in love had happened relatively late for us, and we knew better than to take it for granted. We both felt we had been able to put the ‘soul’ in our soulmate relationship. We didn’t just like each other; we each thought the other would make a great parent.
When I hit thirty-five, I realised that I didn’t want young teenagers when I was heading towards sixty. For Rick, this appeared to be the signal he was waiting for. We began to discuss the possibility of children in earnest. For most people, that discussion would usually revolve around the woman taking folic acid, keeping track of exactly when her period came, and ensuring they had sex on the ‘right’ days.
“We are trying for a baby,” they would then announce to their friends.
Our methodology was more unorthodox. For a start, I had strong social and political beliefs, borne of the teachings of an intellectual trade union leader father and a savvy mother. My parents gave me a biological brother, but also an adopted
one. Growing up with Francesco taught me that not everyone in the world was as lucky as we were. I am sure there are many middle-class children in the Western World who would not consider having to share the sofa bed in the lounge with a little brother as ‘lucky’.
We lived in a tiny flat, and we had hardly any toys. But we had a family, and we had love, which my parents felt we could share with another, less fortunate person. They taught us that love is something you give away. The more you give, the more it grows, and this is how we help create a better world. They also taught us that a home is not a gigantic house or a bedroom to yourself, but a roof over your head, a nourishing meal, and plenty of cuddles. My views on social justice and opportunity were established well before I became a news journalist and saw the world in all its beautiful humanity and ugly despair.
Rick had also come from a very socially aware family. He grew up in a council flat in Scotland, with parents whose flower power ethics stayed with them throughout adulthood and influenced their teaching careers. He shared my views on home, family, and love. We were in perfect agreement: love makes the world a better place.
One lazy, rainy November weekend, after making love, I lay on my back while Rick lazily stroked my stomach.
“You’d look stunning as a pregnant woman,” he said.
“What?” I smiled.
“You heard me.”
“Really… I wasn’t necessarily thinking that’s how we would start our family.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are already so many children in the world with no love in their lives. You know I’ve always felt we would do more good by opening our hearts to a child who’s already here, whose life would be miserable otherwise.”
“So no baby with my eyes and your hair?”
“Is it so important to you to have a little mini-me? You men and your egos!”
“Fra,” he said. “You can’t simplify it like that. Humans have a biological and emotional need to procreate. You can’t just say that has to be put aside in order to help suffering children. You’re opening up a big Pandora’s box on the whole business of existence if you do that.”
But the more we talked about it, the more he became open to thinking beyond having a child in his own image. He was more curious about adoption than afraid of it. Initially our deliberations were abstract, but over a period of months they became more serious and specific.
“I am in two minds about it, really,” he said one night over dinner in our favourite local restaurant.
“I know you are. But don’t you agree that there are so many children in need in this world that we don’t need to necessarily procreate? Plus we have limited resources, and there are too many people on our suffering planet, right?”
Silence, while he pretended to read the menu. I turned to the waiter, who’d been waiting.
“What do you think? Do you have children?”
The poor guy had nowhere to go.
“Er, no, I don’t, but… I think adoption is a good thing to do if you feel that strongly. Can I take your order?”
I wasn’t listening. I was on my soapbox.
“It’s upsetting how in today’s supposed ‘developed world’ we just want, want, want. We want children, we want a boy or a girl, we want two or three or just one, we want them white, black or a nice mixture of the two. We want them to look like us. I guess I am no better as what I am really saying is that I want to adopt! Oh, it’s so complicated.”
Rick tried to change the subject.
“Fra, they’ve got your favourite risotto on again. Look, wild mushroom. Come on. We’d better order.”
“I just know…in my heart that it’s… right… at least for me…for us…”
Rick interrupted.
“Francesca is having mushroom risotto. I’ll have the halibut, thanks.”
He’d had enough for now. But I knew he was thinking about it.

More tomorrow …….

I did not legally become a mother until the paperwork was signed and Gaia was ours. But I had become a mother in my heart the instant I made room for her there, long before we had even met.

I’d heard other women speak of that magical moment when their newborn baby was laid on their breast to nurse for the first time. They talked of a sense of recognition, and of forming an eternal bond in an instant. Of course, that instant was really the culmination of a nine-month-long journey, one that could be long, arduous, and fraught with uncertainty.

Our journey to Gaia was no different in that sense. It was a search that often felt like it would never end. More than once it threatened to tear apart my sanity and my marriage to Rick. In my case, though I had not carried Gaia in my body, I had carried her in my soul, dreaming of her with all my might, and like the belly of a pregnant woman my soul had expanded to fit her. I’d spoken to her in my darkest moments, asking her to be patient, to have faith that we were coming. We were meant to be together, I told her. I explained—for I was sure she was listening—that there were great hurdles to be overcome, and there were strong forces working to keep us apart. But I assured her that we would never give up—never.

And we did not. When I first saw my baby, I understood what those birth mothers were talking about. A piece of me that had been missing suddenly clicked into place. In that single moment, all the pain of the past year became worth it. Finally, we were a family.  The dark energies that were trying to separate us had been vanquished…or so I thought.

This is the story of how we found our little girl and brought her home. In one way, it’s a simple, small story, but I have several strong reasons for writing it.   I write to raise awareness of an issue, the one of adoption, that is both complex and convoluted and where the system is failing the very children it was set up to help. We weren’t infertile, that wasn’t the issue. We decided to follow our political principles and give love and a home to a child who would otherwise not have one. It was that simple. Or so we thought. In our quest we were judged every step of the way and had to contend with a system that needs reforming and has a long way to go before the choice of giving love to a child who needs it becomes as simple as it ought to be. We were forced to waste precious resources—time, money, energy—on dealing with redundant legal procedures and governmental incompetence, when we could have been lavishing these on our child instead. Every day hundreds of thousands of children are forced to live in dire circumstances or languish in care because the paperwork to adopt them either domestically or from abroad is simply too complicated.

While I understand adoption is not the only way to help them and vetting potential adopters to make sure they will be fit parents is crucial, the process is needlessly long and invasive and bureaucratic. It is quadrupled if you are the first from your own country attempting an international adoption in a certain place for the first time. In our case, we were the first people from the UK to adopt from Mexico, and judging by the reaction we received from adoption and immigration officials, one would think we had announced our intention to eat the child, rather than give her a good home. This is a state of affairs that needs to change, the sooner the better.

I write to give courage to those who feel that the best way for them to help this troubled world is to give a home to a child who otherwise wouldn’t have one. Like us, you will sometimes encounter polite confusion at best and outright hostility at worst. Don’t give up. Your child is out there waiting for you. I write especially for the orphaned and abandoned children of the world, of whom there are millions. Many of them will die of starvation, disease, or neglect before reaching adulthood; others will never realise their full potential; and some will even grow into adults who perpetuate the very injustices that caused their own unfortunate circumstances. There are many children in need, but there are also
many families who would give them a good home. By raising awareness to this issue and campaigning for a more humane adoption process, I hope less of them will grow up hungry, scared, or sick, with loving parents. It’s a dream, I know, but I can think of no more worthy one to pursue.

I am writing also for more general reasons: to give support to those who feel they have a strong vision of how to make the world a better place, but who may feel overwhelmed by the obstacles put in their way by the prejudices of society or the pitfalls of bureaucracy. Two of my heroes are Martin Luther King, Jr., whose famous “I have a dream” speech continues to resonate throughout the world, and Mahatma Gandhi, who said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” Both these men accomplished feats that transformed things on a global level, but they started out small, in the face of tremendous odds, armed only with the belief that one person can make a difference. I believe that no matter what our personal mission or vision may be, following their examples will ultimately benefit all of humanity.

And finally, I am writing this as a gift for Gaia, so that our little girl may read this one day and know how much we always loved her.

We also talked about my book, Mexican Takeaway which will finally make it into the stores on May 1st.

My involvement in this issue began with me deciding to write the book and use it as a vehicle to raise awareness of such a crucial issue and bring about positive change.Because of that, I am thrilled that even before it’s been released, it’s helping to make things happen. It’s funny how you start something and have no idea where it will go. Of course, we have much work to do but it seems now that the scandal and tragedy of the way in which adoption has been handled for so long in this country is about to become a major issue.

A friend recently asked why I was still doing this. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” he said. All this activity you’re generating. Surely you don’t need to worry now you have your children.”

That’s not the point. We didn’t set out to simply procure babies and move on. We set out to give a child a home because we believed then, as we do now, that all children deserve a stable and loving family situation. So if we follow through from that, then it’s not all about our cosy little family. While it might not be totally desirable for us to be in the spotlight, I know it won’t be forever. This is a phase, and then the campaign will move on to another one where I will increasingly be (hopefully) pushing and pulling behind the scenes.

I’m not going to change the world. But if my exposure helps to take adoption to a place where one, two or more children find a loving home, then I will have achieved what I have set out to do.

For Francesca Polini and her husband, Rick, the process was heartbreaking. They deliberately chose not to have children of their own, but instead to offer a home to a couple of children in care waiting to be adopted.
Mrs Polini was taken aback when social workers at Ealing council in West London, where she lives, told her that their services were not required.

“I was told over the phone, without even an interview or face-to-face meeting, that all the children in Ealing needing to be adopted were black or mixed-race and there was a cap on the number of white couples they wanted to approve, and that number had been reached,” she told The Times.

“I was really shocked. It was made clear we could not be considered for anyone other than a white child, and there was no suggestion that neighbouring local authorities may need white couples and I should go there instead. The social worker suggested we try for overseas adoption instead. Apparently it didn’t matter about the child being from a different ethnic group as long as it came from abroad.”

The couple did just that, and after an emotional rollercoaster ride became the first British couple to adopt from Mexico. Mrs Polini, 41, has written a book, Mexican Takeaway, about the experience. They have a daughter, Gaia, 3, and a son Luca, aged six months.

Although they are happy with their family, they still feel they had a lot to offer children in care in this country.

“It didn’t hit me until after we had adopted Gaia how ridiculous it is to tell a couple they cannot adopt because they are white. With local authorities it seems to be colour first, and then what religion your are, rather than whether you are ready and prepared to look after a child.

“The Government has made a start with new guidance but it remains to be seen whether local authorities will follow it. I think there won’t be any significant progress unless they scrap the local authority-based system altogether and have one national agency in charge.”

I would like to say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to The Times for the tremendous support they are giving to help young children find loving and stable homes.

This is so complicated it is hard to know where to begin, except to feel dreadfully sorry for the couple. Turning to the general question of surrogacy, I will lay my cards on the table now and say that personally, I do have a problem with the concept. For me it is another example of a consumer world where anything is available at a price. For me surrogacy does not seem to be about wanting to be a family but rather about ‘wanting a baby.’

While I understand there are many ways to become a parent including adoption, IVF or remarrying someone who already has children I do struggle with the moral issues around surrogacy. Is it morally right to pay someone to be pregnant for you? I know I’m not the first to ask that question and there are better minds on the job, but nonetheless it is a tough call.

For me it isn’t, just as it wasn’t right for the corrupt Mexican lawyer we met during our travels to adopt our daughter, to organise payment for poor women to have children by the same father so that couples could adopt children who were already a ‘family’ and looked alike. This is explained in my book Mexican Takeaway.  Both situations are troubling because they are all about the needs of the parents and have nothing to do with caring for children. For the lawyer it was supply meeting demand.

It’s not just surrogacy that is the problem. It’s the fact that because it’s possible to buy something on the open market, then it is automatically assumed that it is okay to do so. You’re seventy, have money and want a baby? Sure, there’s an IVF doctor somewhere who will do it for you. Never mind about the child and their future past teenager hood with no living parent. Are you a wealthy single woman who has no need for a father but just wants someone with perfect genes? Get down to the clinic and for a tidy sum you too can have that perfect child injected into you.

What is right and what is wrong?  Have we crossed a line so far we can’t see that we’ve commoditised babies into a business?