Yeah, it had been a bad day from the beginning. My wife Carol had been away visiting her sister Mary for the week and was due home that evening. I knew that she'd have a lot to say about my housekeeping skills when she arrived home as well. Well, I had planned to really get the place sorted the evening before, but some of the boys had shown up and wanted to play cards.

At first I'd refused and told them I needed to get the house sorted before Carol got home. But then one of the guys said they'd all pitch in and help clear the place up after the game. Yeah, great plan, but four hours and far too many cans of beer later that idea was completely forgotten about as some of the guys who could still walk went home whilst a couple of others passed out in the lounge.

Friday morning my two friends who'd stayed over and I had all overslept. I had a head that felt like someone had climbed inside and was trying to find his way out again using a Kango hammer. I dashed out of the house as fast as I could; Fridays are always really busy days for me at work.

When I arrived at the office, some Wanker had parked in my space; probably assuming that as I wasn't there on time, I wasn't coming into the office that day. Quite a lot of my working time is spent out of the office, visiting our companies various building projects around town.

I had to park what seemed like a bloody mile away and walk back to the office. Then I got a flea in my ear from my boss about being late for work and my secretary met me with a whole load of messages about things that had apparently gone wrong on just about every job we had on the go.

So still feeling like shit, I had to walk back to my car before I could drive around the various sites to discover what was so important it couldn't wait until Monday. But not before I'd found the tosser who'd parked his car in my bloody parking bay and tore him off a strip.

The traffic was horrendous as it normally is on Fridays and getting around the sites took all bloody morning. My head was thumping and just about every so-called urgent problem could really have waited a few days.

When I got back to the office about lunchtime, the car that had been parked in my bay that morning had gone. But some other bastard had parked his car in there. It was as I was bollocking that guy that my boss called me to join him and a potential customer in conference.

I hoped that they would like to talk over lunch, as I had eaten nothing since the night before and I was beginning to feel really hungry by then. I was also hoping that if I got something substantial in my stomach, I would stop feeling queasy and it might even manage to do something for my headache as well.

Several times I suggested that we go out and eat, but neither my boss nor the client seemed interested. It was nearly four o'clock when the meeting finally broke up and I still had a whole load of work on my desk to do.

My head still aching, I gave most of the reports I was supposed to peruse little more than a cursory glance. I asked my secretary to go out and find me something to eat. Unfortunately all the local sandwich shops had closed up early as they normally do on Fridays. I won't say what she came back with, but I think it was getting ready to walk away on its own. I didn't eat it.

By six o'clock, I'd finally managed to clear my desk, so that I could leave the by-then deserted office. Everybody else had left hours before. The drive home was in the thick of traffic again. Really I could have done with stopping off for something to eat on the way. But I had housework to do before I went to collect Carol from the station.

Entering the house I took some more aspirin. Shit, I'd tried everything that day but nothing seemed to have any effect on my headache. I thought about my shotgun, but that would have made even more mess for me to clear up. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that Carol could wake the dead when she gets on her high horse.

So there I was, vacuum cleaner in one hand, duster in the other, dashing around like a blue arsed fly when the bloody phone rang. It was Mary, telling me she'd dropped Carol at the station her end and watched her get on the train. I was instructed that I should be at the local station to pick Carol up at nine forty-five.

We exchanged a few pleasantries as you do, although I really can't stand my sister-in-law. She'd really stitched-up her husband Garry big-time in the divorce. I'd liked Garry and I was damn sure the little bitch had been running around on him. I'm not sure what made me so convinced, but there were things that didn't add up about her. And her claims that Garry had knocked her about, which he vehemently denied. But once Mary had the judge convinced, the poor sod didn't have a leg to stand on. He was bloody lucky he never went down for it.

Mary's phone call over, I set about my task with a vengeance and I was quite pleased with my efforts by the time I was putting the house-cleaning gear away at eight-thirty. But then I realised I hadn't emptied the rubbish bin in the kitchen. When I got outside, I realised I'd forgotten to put the bin out for the council guys to empty that week. I could just imagine Carol's voice. "That dustbin smells terribly. Why didn't you put it out for the men?"

I did a bit of lateral thinking and I thought it would be prudent of me to shove the bin-bag in the back of my car and drop it in the skip on the building site down the end of the road on my way to the station. I'd have to spray some smellys around the car, but I was sure that Carol wouldn't figure out why.

Best laid plans of mice and men and all that. I'd carefully tied the top of the bag, but as I was carrying it to the garage to put it into the car, when it got snagged on the door jamb. The damn thing ripped open showering crap everywhere. Almost in panic, I retrieved another bag from the kitchen draw and set about the disgusting task of picking all the rubbish up again. But as I was doing so something caught my eye.

A little cardboard envelope with the word "Durex" printed on it. Oh, for you folks down in the Antipodes, I'm told Durex is or was the name of the biggest selling brand of sticky tape down there. Whether that's true or not, unfortunately Durex is the name of one of the leading, or most famous, brands of contraceptives in the UK.

Now as I'd had a vasectomy after our youngest was born seventeen years before, I couldn't see that Carol had any reason to have Durex in the house. Strangely you might think, I do keep some Trojans in the garage though. Mainly to keep my matches in when I go hiking and camping on the moor with the Boy Scouts. I help out with the Scouts sometimes.

Okay, you can understand that some little bells, or should I say, rather large bells were ringing in my head. What would Carol possibly want with Durex? No prizes for giving me the answer to that one; I was already there.

Okay, time for some quick thinking. Contraceptives equal shagging, and they are used as protection against becoming pregnant and/or catching a disease. Well, for a start, I haven't got any diseases (that I know of anyway) and I can't make Carol pregnant because I've had the chop. So just who was it Carol has been shagging and when?

Further searching amongst the rubbish turned up two more empty Durex packets. Fuck me, Carol, at three rubbers to a packet; that means you shagged someone nine times last week. No, come on, think sensibly, man. Carol's been away at Mary's all week and you're quite sure that Mary puts it about a bit. Now here you find the outer packets for nine Durex. Jesus Christ, Carol went off on a bleeding fucking spree with her sister. Well, that's the most logical conclusion I could come up with.

I was very pleased with my self-control when I picked Carol up from the station. I was five minutes late and she was annoyed at being kept waiting. Carol was even more annoyed that I didn't get out of the car to put her suitcase in the boot. She did ask me what the other cases were doing in there but I steadfastly refused to reply to her. I think it was my silence that first gave her the idea that something was cooking.