Paranoia

'a mental condition characterised by delusions of persecution or exaggerated self-importance....it may be a characteristic of chronic personality disorder or of drug abuse.'

The effects of years of 'puffing' have finally caught up with Lee. I can't exclusively blame the weed for giving him delusions of self importance, as I think I may have had a part to play in that. The years of attention I afforded him, often at the expense of my own family, were no doubt instrumental in making him feel important.

There was a time when receiving messages from me made him 'go all tingly' (his words) but now, it seems, they leave him feeling persecuted; so much so, that he feels the need to warn mutual friends about me.

I had to smile at the irony when I learned that, predictably, I'm being described as some sort of nutter. He may have convinced his wife that he's been the victim of a 'bunny boiler' but, thankfully, the friend in question has a better insight into my mental state.

I shouldn't be surprised that Lee twisted the truth to appease his wife as he had a knack of dreaming up excuses to get himself off the hook but I'm slightly concerned that he still feels the need to apportion to me, any blame for the shit that's going on in his life.

Insomnia

The children were sleeping soundly in the next room. Her husband was beside her, snoring. She'd managed to spurn his alcohol fuelled advances earlier but knew it would only be a matter of hours before he'd be waking her with his blood engorged penis pressing into her back. She cringed at the thought.

Gone were the days when any physical affection he showed made her feel loved. These days she avoided intimacy wherever possible. On the rare occasions she did let him in, she willed the whole process to be over as quickly as possible. She couldn't look him in the eyes as she was too afraid of what she would see. She'd sensed for a long time that his heart wasn't in it, and now, with every thrust, she too wished she was in the arms of someone else. Someone who would make her feel happy and fulfilled.

She tried to remember the feelings of love and contentment she'd experienced when she first met her husband, but as his nasal reverberations echoed around the room, all she could feel was resentment and a sense repugnance at the sight of him lying next to her. He expected her to make an effort with her appearance yet seemed content to let his own deteriorate. With his growing beer belly and receding hairline, he was becoming more like his father every day.

His family background had caused her to have a few reservations before they got married but he'd convinced her that they were the dysfunctional ones, not him. She didn't mind that he wasn't close to his mum as she'd dated men who were and always felt like she was second best. He'd convinced her that his dad's promiscuity and disregard for family values weren't hereditary. He'd lied.

As she lay in the darkness, thinking about the way things had turned out, she felt cheated. On her wedding day she'd never imagined their marriage to have ended up like this. If it weren't for the children, she feared it would have been over long ago. The pressure of being the main breadwinner was taking its toll and she was acutely aware that her daughter was picking up on the tension between her parents. More often than not, they struggled to share a civil word. Sometimes it was easier not to talk at all as, when they did, a spiteful slanging match often ensued.

He'd threatened to leave several times, and in many ways, she wished he'd had the conviction to follow it through. Her friend had pointed out that she may actually be better off claiming working tax credits than relying on her husband's meagre contribution to the family finances. It was risible to think that once, they had planned on emigrating to sunnier climes. Rather than sitting on a nice little nest egg, they were up to their eyes in debt - not that that stopped him from booking a weekend away with the boys.

She'd agreed to let him go only because she didn't want to be seen as the demanding wife. She knew his mates disliked her and the feeling was mutual. She trusted them as little as her own husband. For 2 days she'd tried to stop herself imagining their sordid acts of drunken debauchery while the words 'what happens on tour, stays on tour' echoed through her mind. He may not have been the best looking man she'd ever been with, but she'd experienced how he used his charm and humour to woo her into bed. It was amazing how resourceful he could be when sexual conquest was his aim. Not that there was any sexual chemistry between them these days.

The last time she'd had any carnal urges was when they were trying for their second child. She'd hoped that another baby would bring them closer but her plan had failed. The added work and responsibilities only succeeded in pushing them further apart.

She was tired but couldn't sleep. Tired of her life and how it had turned out. Tomorrow, she resolved, she was going to make some changes......................

The Game

So, Christmas is over for another year. The season of goodwill has come to an end and it comes as no surprise that the festive greetings extended to Lee were not reciprocated.

I know enough about him now not to take this shun personally. I am just one in a long line of old acquaintances that he has been forced to forget.

Had I known his reputation for being a liar and a flirt, perhaps I would have been better prepared for the games he played with me. Had I read "The Game" by Neil Strauss I may have been wiser to the techniques he employed to reel me in; I'd have known that the profile I created, stating that I was happily married and not looking for extra marital 'fun', only served to make him more determined to break me. He liked a challenge.

The fact that I was hundreds of miles away helped him avoid temptation and made it less likely for his cover to be blown. Embarrassingly for him, I like a challenge too.

He always claimed he wouldn't meet as he was afraid of what might happen. More specifically, he was convinced we would end up in bed together! Perhaps in his mind it was OK to indulge in cyber sex, but meeting in person was a step too far. Strange how a hand posted invitation to his office weakened his resolve. It would have been nice to think that our rendezvous was agreed to for my sake, but I am well aware that his sudden change of heart was purely a means of damage limitation on his part.

I'm sure the game was fun for him whilst he was in a position of power; saying and doing exactly what he liked without any repercussions; proving his mojo; having his ego massaged. I wonder how he achieves that now. No doubt there are plenty of other mugs lurking in cyberspace who are filling the void in his life. I don't know who to pity more. Still, no matter what he says to them, there'll always be the cliched get-out clause, "I meant it at the time".

I'd hoped that one day, Lee might have had the courage to say that to my face, but I can see now that he doesn't have the strength of character. He'd rather get his formidable wife to do his dirty work.

The Truth

When you question someone's honesty and their response is 'I don't have to prove anything to you', you can pretty much guarantee that's because they can't substantiate their claims. The following list is not exhaustive:

1. I own a property development company...working on projects (worth between £5ooK and £1 million) all over the UK I sell houses (average value £350K) within a 5 mile radius of my office.
2. I live in a detached house A terraced house
3. I'm not married I got married 2 years ago
4. I live in Harrow Bushey
5. I don't have kids I have a young daughter who is my world
6. My dad's a git he lent me £70k to keep my business afloat
7. My brother's useless he runs a successful business, is happily married and still makes time for friends
8. A pal and I own an apartment in Spain it actually belongs to my in-laws
9. I love you I want you to say it back to me to boost my ego, 'cause my wife rarely does
10. I don't go in for all that religion shit but I'll still have my son circumsized

Some of the above statements were clearly based on opinion, therefore cannot be classed as lies as such. The others however, show how addictive lying can be. Once lie #3 had been told, #1, #4, #5 ,#8 and #9 were inevitable. As well as keeping his identity hidden, they served to hide a certain amount of hypocrisy:

"you shouldn't be chatting to me, you are a married lady....you made vows"

Sure, I vowed that I would love and honour and respect my husband and I'd spent 10 years doing just that, but here was a man, recently married, telling me how I should conduct myself within my marriage. A man who denied the existence of his own spouse in order to justify his unsavoury internet activity. A man so dissatisfied with his lot that he felt the need to big himself up.

Perhaps I was wrong to have embarked on a relationship with him, although I don't remember vowing not to talk to another man after my wedding day. I'd always had male friends and had no intention of relinquishing them, just because I had a 'Mrs' before my name.

My husband knew about 'Lee' because I told him. I didn't tell him everything of course, which is probably just as well given that I did eventually untangle my friend's web of lies. I doubt Mr S would have reacted very favourably to Lee's confessions of what he'd like to do with me. Nor would he have taken to kindly to his suggestion of 'hiring a hit man', so he could have me all to himself.

I guess my being economical with the truth makes me just as guilty as Lee. The difference is, I did it to protect him and my husband's feelings, he lied purely to protect himself.

Boredom: Blog Ratios

I'm acutely aware of of the sudden increase in the frequency of my blogs, and it's got me wondering about the catalyst for this recent splurge.

It would be easy enough to attribute it to Boredom, however that doesn't take into account Frustration, the sibling of Restlessness. I've wrestled lamely with both the former and the latter lately, but managed to keep Frustration in an unyielding head-lock. Up to now that is.

I was brought up to observe manners such as: writing thank-you letters for gifts/hospitality; not talking over/ interrupting people; waiting my turn; respecting others' religion/ sexual orientation/ feelings; holding doors open for people; giving up my seat for the old and infirm.....and it annoys me when others don't follow these basic principles of social etiquette.

Being ignored upsets me most of all. Granted, I'm guilty of this crime myself when it comes to responding to the Inland Revenue, but I'm not stupid enough to think that, by ignoring the letters they send, they'll just forget about me. I also doubt whether the VAT man will take it personally.

Ignorance is bliss....

as they say. If that's the case, I know one ignorant person who must be wallowing in a blissful bed of roses now. Hope he can ignore the thorns.

Mojo

I sometimes wonder, now that I am no longer a 'distraction' in his life, does he still feel the need to prove his mojo in chatrooms or, is the effort he has been putting in at home finally paying off?

How to choose your friends wisely

They say you can't choose your family but when it comes to friends, most of us have freedom of choice. That's what makes friends so special.

Friendships help us develop as people, but the very term "friend" covers a whole range of relationships. You have a very close friendship with your partner but with others it may just be a common interest or history or simply children the same age. We all have friends with whom we share a common interest, like football or shopping, but such friendships are less profound than those with the ones we love for themselves or something in their character; the mates we can sit down with and share a meal or the ups and downs of life.

The advent of social networking sites such as Facebook has given rise to the idea that we can have almost limitless numbers of friends but this only serves to dilute the concept of friendship. I'm as guilty as the next person for adding people out of curiosity. After the initial dialogue, correspondence usually slows down to a trickle proving that when it comes to our circle of friends, quality is the most important factor, not quantity.

A strong friendship, like a successful marriage, is based on trust and honesty and is mutually beneficial but good friends can be hard to find. In 'How to choose your friends wisely', Sarah Letts recommends that you:

"Inquire about the person's family. Even if someone is not close with his family, you can learn a lot about him by the way he talks about them. If he comes across as

bitter or mean, it's a signal that he may have issues in relationships."

I've always considered myself to be a good judge of character, however I can't help wishing that I'd read that bit of advice before investing my time and effort in one particular person. The friend in question only ever had negative things to say about his nearest and dearest. His dad was 'a git' , his mum 'a pain', brother 'useless' and his wife 'a nasty piece of work'. I have to concede that there's certainly some truth in the idea that he has issues with relationships, so much so that he now relies on his wife to control who he see and when.

Whilst I can understand him wanting to keep his best friend / wife ( I use the BF term loosely here as I sense the marriage is based more on honour and convenience than friendship) happy, It saddens me to think that he has cast most of his decent friends aside. I used to feel hurt that I was one of the friends in question but when I remember his words "I've never been dumped - I always dump them before they get the chance", it all makes sense.

Time is a great healer

It wasn't so long ago that my mum used these words to reassure me. She could plainly see the hurt and anguish Lee was causing as long as I was still in contact with him. If I took her advice to cut all ties with him I would, she promised, soon be wondering what it was I ever saw in him.

Deep down, I sensed she was right, but I struggled with making that break. I've never been a great believer in burning bridges, however I knew that in order to put an end to the cycle Lee's half-baked apologies & excuses and my acceptance of/ forgiveness for them, I had to light the touchpaper. Perhaps using his wife as the ignition point was unfair, but as he'd never stuck to the rules, I felt justified.

It's been 9 months now since I brought things to a head and, although I'm not particularly proud of myself for the way I went about things, I realise that it was the only way to force Lee's head out of the sand. All around him desert storms were raging, yet he continued to bury himself so deep that I feared he would eventually suffocate.

Looking back at our relationship, I can see how I had ended up feeling asphyxiated. In the early days, talking to Lee was like a breath of fresh air. I guess the problems started when he kept insisting on turning that air blue with constant requests for me to watch him masterbate. The first time I conceded was more out of curiosity than anything. Maybe I was looking for proof that he was as Jewish as he claimed. His circumsized willy was, he claimed, for my eyes only. When I saw it again, unbeknown to him, I was using a different name (by this time I had created a new profile in UK Chatterbox). I did feel like a naive fool, and slightly jealous if I'm honest, but I figured that as a single guy, slightly lacking in terms of physical appearance, he had to take it where he could get it.

The idea of someone relieving his sexual frustration all over the desk in his back office is made sadder when you realise that the wanker in question has a wife of 2 years at home. I'd be mortified to think of my husband spending our honeymoon period in this way. It'll come as no surprise to learn that I fell for the old 'my wife doesn't understand me' line when Lee finally confessed to her existence. It's no wonder she didn't understand him. She barely knew him and the secret life he lead.

Obviously I didn't divulge Lee's more sordid actions when I contacted Miriam, I spared him that humiliation. I could've sent transcripts of all the things he said he'd like to do with me, but knowing that his wife has issues about her body, I didn't think it would do much for her self esteem.

During one of the last conversations I had with Lee he claimed that in spite of everything, he was glad he'd met me. I helped him. I made him see how a marriage should and can be and now he was taking steps put right his own. I'm glad I had my uses.

The burning smell of the bridge I had set alight left a bitter aftertaste. What I had believed to be a genuine friendship was coming to an end and I couldn't help feeling cheated. I searched for positive things that our relationship had given me but failed to find anything of great significance. I'd sent birthday cards, Christmas presents and a gift for his new born son, I'd welcomed him into my life, introduced him to my friends, been patient and forgiving but what did I get in return? I'll tell you. A few nice words which, it turned out, he only meant 'at the time'.

It took Lee a matter of weeks to recover from the feeling that he loved me and realise that I wasn't The One he professed me to be. Granted, it's taken longer for the wounds he inflicted on me to heal but, ironically, with the help of one of his friends, I'm well on the road to recovery.

Mr E

I sense a new reader. Best start writing again.

To the ghost readers of the ethereal writer......

......, welcome. I don't know how you finally ended up here but I'm always glad to receive new visitors. x

Dying for Spring

I feel dead inside. I'm just waiting for my body to catch up with my soul.

Betrayal

I was conscious that throughout this whole sorry 'affair', everyone has suffered feelings of betrayal, everyone apart from Lee that is. I thought it only fair that he too should experience the hurt that it causes, after all, it is impossible to have empathy with our loved ones until we have walked in their shoes.

I am disappointed in myself for stooping so low but I am learning to only give respect where it is due. After almost 4 years of being taken for a fool , lied to and ignored, I don't feel that Lee deserves any more of my respect.

Contemplation

If I don't write, I fear I'll do something stupid. I feel ready to explode but have to keep a lid on it for the kids' sake. When my phone vibrated during a lesson, to signal an incoming text, my curiosity got the better of me again. Pretending to check the time, I took a sneaky look at the message: ' please call me urgently re. available house buying funds'. I wish I hadn't bothered as it meant missing my break to call Pots. Clueless as to the whereabouts of all the relevant bank statements, he had to be guided through the house, by me, to locate them.

It annoys me that he's never bothered to help manage the home economics. I'm used to the idea that I'm expected to know the location of every sock, cleaning material, book or useful phone number in the house, however I resent being responsible for all things money related too.

By the time I arrived (late) at my next lesson, I was on the verge of tears. I'd stopped briefly to talk to Ali, who'd heard the tail end of my phone call and had asked how things were going. I'd been quite calm and matter of fact at first, but her sympathetic look and kind words tipped me over the edge. Damn.

The day has been getting steadily worse since then. I came home at lunch time to cry in private, only to find Pots' car on the drive. Sometimes it seems he's everywhere I turn. I feel hemmed in, suffocated and it's always more stifling at the weekend.

For two days each week, I face the reality of my life without distraction. Work provides me with a welcome escape from the sadness I feel at home. My whole existence feels to be in limbo and the pressure of the major decisions which rest on me is, quite honestly, too much to take. As I can't contemplate any sort of happy future for myself I have been considering the alternatives.

Agnosticism proves to be quite useful here because it means I don't have major moral issues about suicide. I know it's the coward's way out and I feel guilty that the loved ones I'll leave behind may suffer feelings of self-blame or loss. I'll be sure to remind them of my stubbornness in the note I leave. When I've made my mind up about something, I become unyielding. I'll also point out how their lives will be richer in my absence - it'll be my way of doing a bit of counselling from beyond the grave.

Pots will be able to enjoy living with his children in a mortgage free home, free to find a woman who will love him like he deserves to be loved. Pinky and Perky will be saved from their Mum's voice of doom, which thwarts them from dawn til dusk. Lee will have his dirty secrets taken to the grave, and will be able to enjoy life with his family without 'distraction'. I wonder, should a schedule a Moonpig card to be sent to him or Misriam, announcing my departure?

The Killer Curiosity.

A recent post concluded that feeding ones appetite for curiosity leads to a satisfactory sense of fatness. Today's entry in my disjointed virtual journal will consider whether being too curious can result in death.

I am feeling rather melancholy today. The offer Mr S made on a 3 bed semi has been accepted. I accompanied him to a succession of viewings last night and one in particular stood out: recently renovated and tastefully decorated; attached garage with potential use as bike workshop; convenient location for school and kids' friends; garden with patio area for barbecues; open view over valley.

This show of financial commitment makes our separation seem a lot more definite and I'm saddened by the idea that our 13 year marriage is all but over. The thought of my children's future step mum keeps popping into my head yet when I try to imagine how I'll feel about her, I draw a blank. I can't seem to picture life that far into the future, then I wonder if that scenario might happen sooner than I'd expected. I wish I could fast forward to that time to find out what my gut feeling would be towards my husband with another woman. By then though, it might be too late. Like many men, Pots isn't one to sit around moping over a woman. Once he's made the decision to move on, that's exactly what he'll do.

I know I'm being naive believing that we may remain good friends. We have always had and still have a strong friendship, however, although that is a good basis for a successful marriage, I fear it is not enough. He's a red blooded male and I love him enough to provide him with an escape route from a sexless relationship. I can't promise that my sexual desire for him will ever return and I feel I've kept him waiting long enough already. He calls it 'throwing the baby out with the bath water', him being the baby and the bath water representing my issues.

I'd hoped that, with Lee withdrawing himself from my life, I'd have more time to concentrate my thoughts and actions on saving my own marriage yet I've felt so devoid of any emotion, I've hardly even had the inclination to try. The mental torture suffered over the last 4 years has beaten me down so far that I have no fighting spirit left. You could say that my inquisitive nature was the catalyst to it all. My almost obsessive need to know. My being 'obsessed by another bloke'.........' brain washed'...........'taken for a fool'. The actions I took to satisfy my curiosity caused so much damage. By talking secretly to Lee, I destroyed Pots' trust in me; confiding in my Internet 'friend' put my loyalty to my husband in question; the ad I placed on Gumtree to find out Lee's true identity made me look like a stalker, as did the phone call to his office when I finally tracked him down.

The consequences of my curiosity have been tragic. Lee often boasted that he knew 'how to press my buttons' but the question is, did he really intend to deploy the one marked 'destroy marital bliss'? When I look back at jealous comments he made in the early days, I do wonder.

I trusted Lee intimately which was quite a big deal for me. To have that thrown back at me was soul destroying and killed off a huge part of my trusting nature. When I consider the compromising positions I put myself in for him, I feel sick with shame and stupidity. It all adds to the overwhelming guilt I live with each day. All nails in the coffin of my former, happy life.

'F**k Off and Get a Life - seriously, get help'

The words on my lap top monitor stared back at me cuttingly. The sharpness of the tone sliced into my soul, hitting a few raw nerves along the way.

The e-mail from Lee's wife was short and to the point. She didn't wish to hear my apologies or care to share my insight into her marriage, nor did she 'give a shit about' what I'd been through. I can see that it wasn't her empathy that endeared her to her husband. He'd said she was a 'nasty piece of work', and here she was, threatening to show me 'what she was capable of'.

I know that she's capable of refusing her husband access to his children, should he leave, but I'm left wondering how she plans to hurt me. Handbags at dawn perhaps? A bit of hair pulling and face scratching? A vicious stream of aggressive, vulgar insults?

My confessional message of apology to 'the moody wife' (her ironically sarcastic words) hadn't been intended to hurt her. If I'd wanted to inflict a bit of mental pain, I could have simply mailed her the transcripts of the MSN conversations between Lee and me. I chose to write and tell her my side of the story because I couldn't stand the thought of being judged as a home wrecker or stalker. I wanted her to know the truth as I saw it, not how Lee had (or not) described the whole affair to her.

Another part of me hoped that my interference might stir up some sort of a reaction from Lee, a show of emotion, be it positive of negative. If my meddling resulted in me being told, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off, then at least I could accept that he was a cowardly, lying bastard and move on.

As far as 'getting a life' goes, I'm working on it. Miriam might be surprised to learn that I do have quite a lot of insight into the life of an intelligent married mother, juggling with the stresses of weaning, potty training, house moves, loss of libido, lack of sleep, work.................Perhaps she's jealous that I had enough time in my life to spend making her husband happy; or annoyed that Lee had caught a glimpse of another attractive wife who did all of the above and still seemed to show her husband love and support; maybe she's laughing at me because she knows that I was yet another of her spouse's 'meaningless indiscretions'.

On paper, I still have the same life I had before this all started: a doting (albeit estranged) husband; 2 happy, healthy children who excel at school, a beautiful home with hardly any mortgage; a career I love; supportive and trustworthy family and friends. I take exception to Miriam's opinion that I need to get a life, although I'll concede that I do need help. Perhaps she could recommend her counsellor.

Curiosity Killed the Cat......

......or, did satifaction make it fat? Discuss.

Last week, in the doctor's waiting room, I tried out one of those height/weight/BMI/bloodpressure/pulse rate/bra size/ hair colour measuring machines. It reminded me of the contraption used by the Clarke's shop assistant to measure my feet for new school shoes. After a few satisfying whirrs and beeps, out popped a receipt bearing my vital statistics. OK, so maybe it didn't show the size of my boobs or reveal my hair's greyness percentage, but it did tell me that I'd lost 2cm and gained 2 kilos. Yahoo!

For me, weight gain is a struggle. I know that makes me unpopular with a lot of women who have the opposite problem: to some, it's acceptable to call me a 'skinny bitch' ; others, who haven't witnessed my appetite, assume I am anorexic; holidays involving bikinis have been avoided by one or two. I wonder how those women would feel if I addressed them as 'fat cows', or assumed that their extra weight was acquired through greed or laziness. Perhaps I was nervous about my petite breasts being compared to my friend's ample cleavage, but I wouldn't let it ruin a potentially great trip away.

Anyway, the fact that I have put on some beef lately, comes as welcome news. Firstly, I can fill my bras without the need for 'chicken fillets' and secondly, when I'm holding The Bow position my hip and pubis bones don't dig into the yoga mat quite so painfully. I actually get quite excited when I see the beginnings of a 'muffin-top' spilling over the top of my jeans and it takes longer for my skin to turn blue when I'm out in the cold.

These physical signs are evidence of my improving mental state. Prior to the popping of my first happy pill, I was warned that I may put on a few pounds, however the drug had the opposite effect on me. I have been able to resign the medication to the back of the drawer because my curiosity about a few things has been satisfied.

Upon consideration of the evidence, it would be reasonable to say that, in this case, satisfying one's curiosities does lead to fatness. It does not however, take into account the notion of curiosity being fatal. This will be discussed in the next blog.

Until then, why not think about what gives YOU satisfaction? I'd love to hear your comments. Meanwhile, I'll leave you with a rather topical poem:

Curiosity
by Alastair Reid

may have killed the cat; more likely the cat was just unlucky, or else curious to see what death was like, having no cause to go on licking paws, or fathering litter on litter of kittens, predictably.
Nevertheless, to be curious is dangerous enough. To distrust what is always said, what seems,to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,leave home, smell rats, have hunches do not endear cats to those doggy circles where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches are the order of things, and where prevails much wagging of incurious heads and tails.
Face it. Curiosity will not cause us to die--only lack of it will.Never to want to see the other side of the hill or that improbable country where living is an idyll(although a probable hell) would kill us all.Only the curious have, if they live, a tale worth telling at all.
Dogs say cats change too much, are irresponsible,are change able, marry too many wives,desert their children, chill all dinner tables with tales of their nine lives.Well, they are lucky. Let them be nine-lived and contradictory,curious enough to change, prepared to pay the cat price, which is to die and die again and again,each time with no less pain.A cat minority of one is all that can be counted onto tell the truth. And what cats have to tell on each return from hell is this: that dying is what the living do,that dying is what the loving do,and that dead dogs are those who do not know that dying is what, to live, each has to do.

Hauntingly Poignant Sexual Tension.

Once again, Mistresses has incited in me that gut wrenching feeling of empathy (in this case, with Siobhan) which inevitably leads to tears. I say inevitably, but what I mean is, those stirred up feelings make me want to cry but I've managed to surpress the tell tale tears in Pots' presence.

Alone tonight, I got upset at the scene where Siobhan recoils from her husband, Hari's passionate sexual advances. She's too distressed to hide the body language and facial expressions which reveal her feeling of dread...........repulsion almost.

It's not that the husband is an adulterous letch who's offerering her a free dose of the clap whilst he executes his conjugal rights. Nor is he some follically challenged, ogre like creature. He's kind, gentle, compassionate, attractive, stylish, trustworthy and lots of other nice things. Perhaps that's the problem; he's just too nice.

The seemingly libidoless wife however, harbours feelings of guilt and he'd see it in her eyes if she'd allow him to gaze into them for more than a second or two. She's tormented by the knowledge that her orgasms are better when she's masturbating alone, thinking about another man. She feels guilty because the man she shouldn't be thinking about keeps popping into her head; on hearing the words Lee, Harrow, Sue, red+hot, Casio, Haberdashers, go-kart, Fifi, Thor, property, (et al); driving through the Jewish area on the way into town; when she hears anything by the Turin Brakes or watches a John Cusack film; passing a Saab 93 convertible or a Subaru with 'picnic table' spoiler; walking past any man with a goatee, glasses and a #1-2 head shave..........amounting to dozens of times over the course of a day.

I seem to have deviated from the plot slightly, but you get the picture. Pots was right about there not being enough room in my life for two men - the 3rd party in our marriage may never have had a physical presence, but his cerebral existence has certainly made its mark. It haunts me still and I don't know how to exorcise it.

Siobhan's 'solution' has been to have illicit sex without the complicated emotional strings. I wonder what the script writer has in store for me?

She's got Jennifer Connelly Eyes.

The trailer for the new film He's Just not that into You brought a reflective smile to my face today. The casting credits show Jennifer Connelly, whose eyes were once likened to mine. Lee, who has shown himself to be just not that into me afterall, commented on the similarity some years ago. You have to laugh at the irony.

I wonder if Janine, Jennifer's character, will fall for the 'you've got beautiful eyes' line?

On Mistresses and Being Human

These days I have sole control over the TV remote which means that I no longer have to endure the droning sound of football or golf commentaries. Not that 'doofer' ownership was ever an issue between Mr S and me. We've always enjoyed the same programmes, and even though televised sport isn't my genre of choice, I'd let him watch an important game/ event........AFTER channel hopping to check for preferable alternatives.

Sadly, or fortunately for Pots, recent TV schedules haven't offered much to entice me. There's a direct correlation between my blogging frequency and the number of rubbish shows on the box. Expect to see a dip however, now that I've discovered Being Human. For obvious reasons, it's broadcast late at night, which happens to my most productive time for writing.

I was excited to see Orla Brady being interviewed last week to promote the new series of Mistresses. The last one had me looking forward to each new episode, just as Attachments and Cold Feet and This Life did before it. All providing a healthy mix of humour, drama, tragedy and food for thought. I can identify with all 2/4 of the leading female characters on so many levels.

Married, like Siobhan, to a lovely guy who loves her unconditionally. Content, but bored and subsequently led astray by someone claiming to be a friend.

The secret mistress, Katie, who is hidden away like a dirty little secret. She's old and wise enough to know better, but can't help following her heart.

Trudi reminds me of so many of the mums in the school yard; pretty but mumsy and lacking in confidence unlike Jessica, a beautiful free spirit. I've never seriously considered lesbianism as an option for myself, but after watching the exotic beauty's escapades, I have to admit, I'd let her snuggle up in my bed if she asked.

The empathy I have with Mistresses may make me sit up and take note of elements of my own life, but it was Being Human which provided me with the poignant quote of the week. It went something like this:

'Ok, leave, but remember I WOULD have listened. When you've thrown it all away and you're sad and lonely you will think of those words and they will haunt you.'