It’s a beautiful day in Barcelona. The sun is high like a gold coin tossed into the blue sky and the coffee and pastries on La Rambla are good. Meanwhile, my wife is grafting more than 700 miles away in cold, grey London. But she sends me a cute text (“Call that work? Enjoy it, you lucky *****”), the sort of peppy message that keeps a mature, trusting marriage going.
Life couldn’t really be better. Or could it? It turns out it could. Much better. All I need is to arrange to have rampant cheat sex with an online hook-up in the certain knowledge I will never get caught.
