Before I knew it we were in his flat. I know it sounds ridiculous to say “Before I knew it” but it really was. I mean I have never done anything like this before and it felt as if I wasn’t really there, as if some other more wicked self had escaped for the night. Carl was being wonderfully provocative. I mean he didn’t just leap or anything. He was, well, “sensitive” is the best way of putting it. After the initial pash in the taxi he really held back and I didn’t feel at all pressurized. So how did I end up on the couch with him? With George Michael’s Older on the CD and six-year-old brandy being ignored on the coffee table while we writhed together? Because I wanted to, that’s why. The booze had knocked out my inhibitions and I wanted to be there, with Carl breathing sensual nothings into my ear and expertly removing my shoes as if he’d been doing it all his life.

And then suddenly I’m floating through the air as he swept me up into his arms with hardly a jolt or a shudder and carried me through to his bedroom, beautifully neat with a vast king-sized bed covered in crisp fresh white linen. This is a man who has a woman who does, no doubt about that. He laid me on the bed and we kissed a little more and then he began to unbutton my blouse.

That was when I stopped it. I don’t know how I did because I don’t think I’ve ever felt so turned on, but I stopped it. His other hand was beginning to work its way up under my skirt, beautifully and gently but under my skirt nonetheless. It was the absolute final point of no return. Somehow I managed to find a voice and against every desire and hormone in my body I asked him to stop.

He did so, immediately. I mean he was still half on top of me but he suspended his exploratory hand actions, even going to the effort of doing up the button he had just undone. On the other hand, he did not remove his lips from my ear into which he whispered, “Lucy, please. I want to make love to you all night, tenderly and gently and completely. I want to massage your body and touch every inch of your beautiful skin. I want to be a part of you, as one, until the morning.”

Oh God, I wanted it. How many years is it since Sam wanted to touch every inch of my skin? And massage! Christ, it takes me all evening to get Sam to give me even the most perfunctory shoulder rub and here was this gorgeous man… Except all that has nothing to do with anything. I’m married and I love my husband.

“And in the morning? What happens then?” I asked. After all, a night of passion is a lovely thought, but I had a lot more to lose than he did.

“Then we’ll make love again, and again in the afternoon and then I’ll ask you to stay another night, and another and always. I love you, Lucy. I think I want you in my life.”

It’s what he said. He’s a man of strong and volatile passion, that’s for sure. He really has got a thing for me. I swear he meant it too. He wants me to go and live in his flat with him. He thinks life should be lived on the impulse. Did I mention that he’d taken his shirt off? He did that after he’d laid me on the bed. He looked absolutely superb, more muscular than I’d expected but not too much. I think saying no was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

“Carl. I can’t. You’re wonderful, beautiful, and I could fall in love with you in an instant, perhaps I already have. But I’m married. I love my husband, it’s not exciting like this, but then nothing is exciting for ever, is it?”

“Isn’t it? That’s a rather bleak view to have of life, Lucy”

And of course he was right. Oh God, he was right. What an appalling thing to have to say. I want it, I crave it, I need it, but I’m going to deny myself because I believe that life is better lived sensibly and unexcitingly. Nonetheless that is what I believe. You can’t just go doing exactly what you like the whole time. Not if you want to look after the things that really matter to you.

“Please, I have to go now,” I said. “I can’t be strong for much longer. Will you call for a cab? Please?”

And to his great credit he did not try to persuade me further. He just said, “Of course,” and rang for a taxi. I could see that he was as upset as I was. For some strange reason he really has convinced himself that he’s fond of me. Christ, I hated leaving that big beautiful bed.

“This time I really won’t call you again, Lucy” Carl said as he kissed me goodbye (on the cheek). “It wouldn’t be fair on either of us.”

The gig was pretty dreadful. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything so loud in my life. The engineers assured me that it sounded better on the radio, but it was rough going for the audience. I think all arena shows should be banned. They’re utterly soulless. I don’t care how good the act is, it could be Elvis come back from the dead but if you have to watch it at two hundred metres in what is basically a concrete aircraft hangar it’s going to be pretty dull. Anyway, the kids seemed to enjoy themselves or at least they acted as though they did. Then again, if you’ve paid twenty quid you’re going to make the effort, aren’t you?

Afterwards there was a line-up to meet the Prince, but I was excluded because the Head of BBC Manchester had muscled his way in and nicked my place. I didn’t really mind. I imagine you’d feel a bit of an idiot in one of those royal line-ups. I’m sure the royals do.

Anyway, as I say, me and Joe and Woody Monk ended up in the bar at the Britannia. I managed not to drink too much, although I did have more than I meant to. Joe kept getting the rounds in. I’ve noticed that about people who’ve given up the booze. They’re always very anxious to buy other people drinks. Vicarious pleasure, perhaps, or else they just don’t want you to think that they disapprove. Anyway, after Joe had got me my fifth bottle of Pils I had to explain that I was taking it easy as I was likely to be called upon to provide sperm samples in the near future.

“Oh, blimey,” he said. “Paternity suit, eh? I get one of vose a veek. Fahking DNA, ruined the art of the casual shag.”

Well I’m home now, drunk and feeling very strange. Angry with myself for so nearly doing something very stupid, and angry with myself for not doing it. I know I’ll feel terrible in the morning, even without the appalling hangover that I’m definitely due. But the main thing is that in the end I resisted temptation. Whatever I may have thought or desired, I did not actually do anything. Well, almost nothing anyway, and that’s what matters. I know I let him feel my breasts, but I’ve decided to pretend even to myself that this hardly happened. Ditto tongue-sandwich style kissing. Yes, I freely admit that I wanted him to shag my brains out for hours and hours, but we didn’t and I’m glad.

One thing I do feel is that I’m very much in love with Sam. I hope that’s not the booze and the guilt talking because I do feel it, perhaps not often, and not in the way Carl excited me tonight, but I do still fancy him. I mean it. It’s not just because I’m drunk. He does still turn me on, and that’s because I love him. And love is something to be cherished and protected. You can’t go through life hopping from bed to bed. You can’t just keep redoing the first few nights of a relationship, can you? Of course not! If you want the love and the security that a proper relationship brings then you have to go for the long haul. Even if you do really really really want to shag another bloke.

Anyway, what I really want to say is that I feel very close to Sam now. I rang him at his hotel and told him so. I hope I didn’t sound too drunk because I have specifically asked him to cut down on the booze because of our IVF business, which I did not give a thought to tonight like the disgusting slapper that I am. Also I hope I didn’t make him suspicious. I mean I do sometimes ring up to tell him I love him. Well, it’s not the first time. I’m far more effusive than he is. Oh well.