Friday, 23 October 2009

The Dilema of Christmas

Oh dear. Christmas is coming. I know this because, unnervingly, Next have started displaying their horrid 'festive' jumpers in the window of the shop near my workplace.

With Christmas comes a logistical nightmare. On the plus side, the holiday season is the only time when I get to take time off from my horrendous job and chill the hell out (blood preasure is a bit ridculous at the moment - fear I may burst before December even gets here). On the minus side, my husbamd does exactly the same thing.

Guess what this means? No no, it doesn't mesn that (rude!). It means NO JAMES. FOR 3 WEEKS.

It's not that I won't be getting a regular dose of How's-Your-Father. Hubby had a little revelation a few weeks ago with a little pill, and now it seems he can't leave me alone (I would like to add that this is not always a good thing. Especially when you've just got home from work, and all you want to do is watch House and eat chinesse).

But it does mean that the quality of Hows-Your-Father I will be getting will be significantly decreased. Instead a making occasional love with a strong, statuest stalion who can lift me with one of his arms tied behind his back, I will be stuck with a podgy little bald man, plagued by an almost-perminent errection.

Might. Go. Mad. James and I will be in touch via most electronic mediums, but that is no substitue for the real thing. Plus, I don't want to keep sneaking off to make phone calls, since the hubster will be around pretty much all of the time. No desire to arouse suspicion.

I am preparing myself for this drought by seeing James as much as possible before the festive End of Days. This, in hindsight, probably isn't the best idea, since my withdrawal symptoms will probably be much worse as a result, but who cares? For the minute, I am letting the good times roll.

This evening, J is taking me for dinner. And if I'm lucky, I might get a quick grope in the fire escape.

Sometimes I sound so sophisticated, I scare myself.

Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Full coverage

So, have just finished doing an email-based interview with The Bolton News. I know what you're thinking - I have officially arrived. Soon I will have the New Yorker banging on my door asking for my comment on some new infidelity scandal. And I will push them to my publicist because I'm having a manicure with Monica Lewinsky.

This is what I dream about while sat in my sad little office, pasting Philadelphia onto a Sainsbury's own-brand rice cracker.

One thing I do find funny about journos is how they always seem to want you to be fully identified. I had spoken to several over the course of this year, and at some point, the following exchange always ensues:

"So, it would be great to get a picture..."

"Yes, I'm sure it would. Unfortunately I'm trying to keep my affair a secret, so that won't be possible."

"Okay Michelle. Is that your real name, Michelle Sutton?"

"No, no...of course not."

"What is your real name?"


"Well, we'd really like to use your real name in the piece..."

"No, sorry. Like I said. I am married and I do not want my husband to find out about my affair so you won't be getting those details from me."

"Okay. This lover of yours...James is it? What's his full name? Do you have any picture of him?"

"*Audibly bangs head against wall*"

"Ahhh, right. Sorry."

I completely understand why a newspaper want to have a photo and a real name - it makes the story so much more immersive. But, in truth, why would a MARRIED WOMAN, having AN AFFAIR IN SECRET, want to identify herself in a LOCAL NEWSPAPER? Yeah, I don't know either. I put so much effort into keeping James under my...hat. I don't want some local rag outing me to everyone and his wife. And their lover.

I have realised this has turned into a bit of a rant. In order to counteract the negatively of the last two paragraphs, I am going to paste an image of something cute. To reset the balance.

Disturbingly, if you search the word 'cute' on Google image search, the following image is the first result...

I have a lot of words to describe that picture. 'Cute' isn't one of them. I apologise to any arachnophobics I might have unnerved. Nothing in more terrifying than seeing the head of something cute pasted on the body of something terrifying. Like seeing Johnny Depp's jewel of a head on Simon Cowell's high-waisted, smug record-exec torso. Shudder.

In conclusion, any Bolton bloggers out there, keep an eye out for said interview. I haven't got a date yet, and knowing locals, I probably won't get keep your peepers peeled.

I realise my dream of becoming a world-renowned infidelity expert is, at the moment, far from realistic. So in the meantime, humor me.


Monday, 5 October 2009

A non-distress call

Hello ladies and gents of the web (of lies and deceit).

I have just received an email from Rosie, at, asking if I might like to take part as an anonymous case study in an up-and-coming TV show about the site and all it's mucky, mucky members.

Anyway - I said I would pass said request out to cyberspace. Because I'm nice like that. If you're a married lady (or, indeed, a mistress) who would be happy to talk anonymously, silhouetted on camera, about your experiences of being a play-away Paula, then drop Rosie an email at

Look at me. I am SO their bitch.

Seriously though. It should be fun, and I'd quite like a chance to meet some fellow adulteresses for a drink and a giggle.

Chow chow (I think that's a dog),

M xxx