I confronted TPR in the family bathroom, unaware that TEF was climbing out of the bath.

‘I know that you are having an affair with DTJ!” I screeched. How could he be so disloyal? And what was she doing cosying up to me, inviting me out for girlie drinks while she was sleeping with my husband?

Although he could offer no excuse for his disappointing behaviour, I was prepared to forgive TPR – so long as he brought the affair to an end. I told him this lying in a hotel bed in St Andrews, sandwiched between him and another man, with just a thin piece of card separating us from the stranger. (Summer accommodation was at a premium in the famous golf resort. The hotels had resorted to all sorts of ingenious ways of cramming as many tourists as possible into each bedroom.)

Then I turned to our bedfellow and struck up a conversation. He told us that he was a golf professional called Steve King. This excited TPR, and he immediately wanted to ‘talk golf’ with him. Unfortunately for him, the autograph hunters at the other side of the room attracted Mr King’s attention first. Then a small dark woman started to speak through puffed out cheeks, in a quiet, breathless way. She too was a golf professional.

All interest in solving our marital problems evaporated in a frenzy to find out who else was sharing our hotel room. Was that an Olympic rowing team in the en suite bathroom?