How about I write an autobiographical book with this title, and make no bones about it? My recurring memories of old boy friends seem to have had a good reception here, and I'm sure there are plenty more to be dug up.
Of course, to be fair, it would have to start with my father, with perhaps a quick backward look at my grandfathers; and then my younger brother. And at this end of my life there are four sons and four grandsons - (sorry, granddaughters!).
But in between, and outside the family: oh boy! what recollections of romance, what moments of madness, what purple passions, what electrifying experiments, what melancholy mistakes, and what sighs of sadness. (Wasn't that fun? I love alliteration, however vulgar a tool it may be.)
Regrets? No. I'm with Edith Piaf here - me and 'The Little Sparrow', we regret nothing.