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shopping, he turns the television on, and is fast asleep within ten minutes.
    Just the thought of excitement is probably enough to have tired him out, unlike Johnny International Director of a Global Oil Company Hunter, who tells me that he’s been away for the last few days, globetrotting across Eastern Europe again. Apparently, this wasn’t as enjoyable as it sounds, or so he claims.
    He says that Johnny hates hotel rooms, and wonders whether I do too. I’ve only ever stayed in a really posh hotel once, and that was on my wedding night, when Dad accompanied Max and I upstairs to our room after the reception, and then waltzed inside when we carelessly opened the door a little too wide.
    After he’d made himself comfortable on the bed, he proceeded to order blithely from room service, while asking our advice on how to ‘manage Dinah and her tantrums’. Max and I finally got rid of him at 3:00am, so we weren’t even earning gold stars on our wedding night, which probably should have been seen as a portent of things to come. Or not, if you’ll forgive the pun.
    It’s not as if I even get to stay in decent hotels because of work. At conference, fn16 we’re lucky to get booked into a broom cupboard – so I have no experience of the high-life at all, which does rather lessen the sympathy I feel for Johnny.
    He and I have nothing whatsoever in common, now I come to think of it; and, to make matters worse, he wants to know what I look like these days, and whether I still have ‘that amazing hair and those incredible legs’. I seriously doubt it, but I’m more worried by the fact that I still can’t remember who on earth he is.
    He could turn out to be the human equivalent of a surprise leg of pork: a crazed internet stalker or – even worse – a constituent playing mind games. That would be far too much excitement, even if it would be just my luck.
    MONDAY, 31 MAY
    The weather’s getting warmer, so now we have to listen to Annoying Ellen’s sex-life on a regular basis. She must be pretending she’s enjoying it. I’ve never heard anyone make so much noise in my life.
    I thought one of her toy-boys was killing her the first time she started yelling like that, but now I think she’s just doing it to get attention, especially as she’s pushed her bed in front of the window – which she makes a point of opening before she entertains .
    Max seems to be spending a long time in the garden in the evenings, watering the plants – or so he says. He comes back indoors with a stupid, dreamy look on his face. Honestly, men are such suckers. Why can’t Ellen just die – preferably in silence?
    At least she’s reminded me about the gold stars, though, so I decide to have a very early night in the hope of persuading Max that we should earn another one. My plan is going very well too until I make the fatal mistake of mentioning the stars, after we get into bed.
    ‘What?’ he says. ‘You’re awarding marks for performance now?’
    ‘No, of course I’m not,’ I say, though I’d probably have done better to omit the ‘of course’ from that sentence. Max glares at me, then waits to hear what I come up with next.
    ‘I’m carrying out a sociological study,’ I say. ‘Which will be of immense value to market researchers who have to assess how often the nation is having sex.’
    ‘For God’s sake, Mol,’ he says. ‘I bet other people’s wives don’t keep records.’
    ‘Probably too busy doing it,’ I say – at which Max emits an unfeasibly loud sigh, and then turns his back on me. He starts snoring almost immediately, so no stars are earned tonight for any reason.
    It takes me ages to fall asleep and, even when I do, I doze fitfully for an hour before waking up in a panic. Now I know who Ellen reminds me of – a blonde James Blunt!
    It’s a question that has been bugging me for weeks, but sometimes ignorance is bliss. If Max fancies Ellen, and Ellen looks exactly like a man, does this mean that Max is gay,