Left Out Of The Loop, In More Ways Than One.

Huh. I'm not surprised scorned women decide to get their own back on the men in their lives. Miss Randall should be let off with a caution. It was obviously a crime of passion.

Her sister comes in to see The Boss during this morning's surgery, to ask for his support, but when Andrew hears what Miss R did to her unfaithful husband's possessions, he doesn't seem quite sure if he wants to give it. He's probably too busy wondering what Trish would do to his, if she ever caught him cheating.

He gets over this unusual bout of introspection pretty quickly, though, and is back to his usual self by the time we show the last constituent out.

"Thought I'd take Vicky out for lunch today, Molly," he says. "To thank her for covering for Greg while he's been on holiday. Her help has been invaluable."

There's no answer to that, so I don't attempt one.

"You're probably too busy to join us, aren't you?" he continues. "What with all the surgery letters to do?"

"Yes," I say. Or that's what I say out loud, anyway. I say considerably more under my breath.

I'm still feeling unwanted and unappreciated while I eat my sandwich, but then I check my emails, and find this:

Hi, Molly,
Was great to see you again after so long. Got your email address from the Steering Group administrator - said I wanted to check if you could help out with our funding application, but really wanted to know if you fancy meeting up for a drink sometime?
Patrick x

Bloody hell. I'm so surprised I have to read the email twice. I'm quite flattered, too - until I realise that Patrick probably only wants to show me how a professional pours a drink.

I'm still cringing at that memory, when Johnny phones. It's all happening today.

"Still no dates confirmed for my next trip to the UK," he says. "So God knows when we'll manage to have sex."

"No change there, then," I say. Unwisely, as it turns out.

"Well, when did you last have any?" says Johnny.

I am outraged. You can't ask your mistress that, even if she is only virtual.

"When did you?" I say, before I realise I don't want to know.

"Good point," says Johnny, neatly side-stepping the issue. He'd make a far better politician than The Boss.

There's a rather uncomfortable pause after that, while we both try to re-group. We're much better at conducting this so-called bloody romance by email than by phone.

"Have you had your invitation to the Northwick Grammar reunion yet?" says Johnny. "I was thinking we could go if I can fly back that week."

"What, together?" I say. "Don't you think people might wonder what we'd done with our actual spouses if we tried to pull a stunt like that?"

"Shouldn't think so," says Johnny. "They'd probably assume we got married once we left school. Seeing as they all knew about that business behind the Science Block."

That's news to me. Seeing as I certainly didn't tell them.

"On the basis of that sort of thing," I say, "they'd probably assume you married Jemima, not me."

"You might be right about that," says Johnny, rather too enthusiastically for my liking. "I wonder if she's going to go?"

God. That's it, isn't it? Johnny's never shown the slightest interest in school reunions - until he just happens to hear from good old Jemima Fuck. So now I've got a husband I don't trust an inch, and a so-called lover who's no better. Bloody brilliant. Well done, Molly.

I can't decide how to get my revenge. Though I'm sure if I give it enough thought, I'll come up with something. Failing that, I might know a constituent who could give me advice.