What on earth had I done by marrying a weedy Spaniard? I was in love with TPR!

Communication between me and my new husband was very poor, and I didn’t even fancy the silly little man. He made such a fuss carrying a framed poster from the bus to the hotel. TPR would have balanced it on his little finger.

When TPR came back from his walk with two women in anoraks I invited him to join me on the quayside. He hurt his ankle when we leapt down to the lower pier, but soon recovered sufficiently to reassure me that all would be OK – provided that I had only dreamt of marrying the Spaniard.

‘The problem is that this is real life’ I replied. ‘But if I don’t consummate the marriage (perish the thought!), he’ll have grounds for divorce, and then I will be free to marry you again.’