M O N D A Y, 3 1 M A Y

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 toyboys 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 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, and is that why we have no sex? Oh, my God.

Want to read on? Buy DIARY OF AN UNSMUG MARRIED HERE:
http://ads.harpercollins.com/bobauk?isbn=978-0-00-754854-5

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful