Summer of Sam

I was summoned to London this weekend by an old flame who reignited. He is, shabbily, the third person who's cheating on his boyfriend with me.

One is a misfortune, two carelessnes, but three spells hussy.

I spend my whole life wanting to be Penelope Keith in To The Manor Born, and I end up as Felicity Kendall in The Mistress.

Complete Sidebar: Tom Stoppard's children were at my school. This meant that, of all horrors, we had our frank talk about sex from Miriam Stoppard. In a feather boa.

The Stoppard Juniors were plonked in the front row, haplessly primed with questions for a dull moment, such as "Is it true you can masturbate too much?" and "Where is the clitoris?"

As if they hadn't suffered enough, some months later news of Tom Stoppard's affair leaked out and the Stoppards were seen trying to look very brave while people yelled out "Felicity Kendall" from the touchline.

Actually, talking about this makes me feel rubbish. But hey, there were popular and went on to great success. While I'm sat in a rainswept office in Cardiff with a view of a brick wall. *shrugs*

Anyway, Sam is supposed to have been last summer's affair, except for an unfortunate incident.

His boyfriend works in the Cabinet Office (I dunno what exactly - polishing?), so was very busy over the summer. All went well until one evening when Sam sneaked in late, to discover his boyfriend already home (I guess the Cabinet had shot their quota of Brazilians for the day and knocked off early).

Sam tried to look nonchalant as he fixed himself a drink and got ready for a shower, but was brought up sharp by his boyfriend drawling out, "Darling, do something about that hickey."

So, the visits from Sam stopped. But happily, the Boyfriend was away this weekend (off with Tony for a break from not apologising for things), and we had a great time. But it does make me worry - does travelling from a different country for a shag make me thrillingly international, or just desperate?