The first time my wife saw her lover’s face, it was on the front page of The Mercury-Sun.

“SENATOR’S WIFE IN TORRID ORIENTAL AFFAIR”, it screamed. The next day, women’s rag Time of the Month asked ‘Why do bad women cheat on good men?’ The day after that, I shed three tears – each angled towards the camera, of course – on a saccharine morning show. The chirpy presenter patted my arm comfortingly, and after the show I scored his number.

Jessica ranted and raved, of course, when some hack gave her the chance. I was the one who cheated, she said, and with the very same Chinese gymnast. She’d never met him, she said, and didn’t even know his name until Rat News ran that clever ‘More Wang for Jessica’ piece. She’d been set up, she said.

Well of course she’d been set up. Someone had been nailing Wang behind our rose bushes. If it got out that it was me, who’d lead the Select Committee on Nuclear Acquisitions then? Not Jessica, that’s for sure.