I used to want to. Every night, towards the end of my relationship with Gabe. I suppose I should introduce him properly: Gabriel Kearns. On paper he’s still my husband, but we no longer live together. We’d been married for about nine years when we realised each of us was regularly disturbed in the night by the snoring or fidgeting of the other. Our guest room – the only other room in the house with a comfortable bed in it – was in the converted basement. Nils Danius now sleeps in that bed, but he didn’t then, and one day Gabe and I realised our marriage wouldn’t fall apart if we didn’t share a bed all night every night. (It would fall apart later for other reasons.) We could still have sex – on the sofa, usually, with Gogglebox on in the background – and then we could both get a decent night’s sleep in different rooms, two floors apart. This discovery thrilled us both.

(Enjoy your smug laughter while you can, youngsters. Sleep matters. You’ll realise that once you turn forty. This kind of thing will happen to you too.)

The one who commuted to the lower ground floor was always me, since I’m capable of moving my brain cells and limbs after 10 p.m. and Gabe isn’t. Our relationship improved once we were no longer exhausted all the time, but it still wasn’t perfect. It had never been perfect. That’s why I needed a lover, whose name was Liam.

Hands up all those who expected me to accept an imperfect husband and not defend myself with a lover? Nope. Sorry. I’ve always believed fidelity should be earned with good behaviour, not taken as read. Demonstrate to me that you can load a dishwasher in a way that doesn’t make me want to start my next sentence with the words, ‘Only a lunatic …’ and then we’ll talk sexual exclusivity.

Liam was a fan, or so he said. He emailed me via my website to tell me that I was his favourite comedian. If this sounds as if I’m summarising, I’m not. His message read, ‘You are my favourite comedian.’ No ‘Dear Kim’, no ‘Warm Best Wishes’ at the end. Still, this gave him the edge over Gabe, whose favourite comedian is Larry David.

I wrote back one of my standard ‘Thank you so much’ emails and Liam replied straight away: ‘You’re not brilliant, but all the other stand-ups I’ve seen are dire.’ I replied, ‘Actually, I am brilliant.’ ‘Meet me for a drink and I’ll explain why you’re not,’ he fired back. ‘Be brilliant rather than dire at making me want to have a drink with you and maybe I will,’ was my response.