Hugh Grant’s wife spills sex story beans (Rousse)

On the spot I volunteered to give the address at the end of the University reunion dinner. What better subject than the sexual exploits of two girls from my hall of residence, now respectable grown women, and seated before me in the audience with their long-term partners?

First there was Susan, and what a slag was she! Indeed, her exploits were so varied it was difficult to present a coherent narrative of her undergraduate bedtime adventures. For JL it was much easier: she had a boyfriend at home and one on campus, and neither knew of the other’s existence.

By the end of my speech Susan was in tears. Her friends shouted ‘Shame!” in my face for ruining her evening.

I approached JL afterwards to check her reaction to my revelations. She did not seem to be bothered at all. Instead, she and her husband told me how they made their millions from the first mass market non-alcoholic ‘wine’ of their invention, and their recent purchase of the island of Lorne of the west coast of Scotland.

It took ages to find Hugh Grant (my husband) afterwards in the sprawling Sheraton Hotel. No longer A list, he had been allocated a poky room that looked out onto the car park at the back of the building. He had hoped that I would join him for supper, but I was so late returning from the reunion that he had resorted to a single person’s room service supper of stringy beef.

I wanted to give my husband my full attention that evening, but LF phoned in a panic about a lump in her upper arm that was ‘definitely not a muscle’. So almost as soon as I had reached Hugh, I headed off again to comfort my friend.

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