When my daughter was about three she walked in on the ex and I ‘in the act’. It was a Sunday morning and as usual she had woken up and wandered into our room to try to burrow under our duvet.

The ex developed a rather strange high pitched voice and said: “Can you get back in your bed now, sweetie? Me and mummy are having special cuddles.” She quietly left the room without protest, as though she instinctively knew she shouldn’t be there.

This was the first and last time this ever happened – which may have been more to do with the infrequency of our intimacies than us being lucky.

But being a Drunken Slut Mum these days means sex at times has to be an opportunist activity, just as some burglars rely on doors being left unlocked and keys left carelessly lying around. If there’s a chance of a quick nibble on my favourite snack (which comes in big Man-sized portions) I will grab it with both hands and my mouth wide-open, so to speak.

And no, I certainly don’t agree with anyone having sex in front of children, but if they are asleep upstairs, surely it’s worth a try.

My creaky bed springs do me no favours, so we tend to explore downstairs options. The Man and I have ended up rolling around on my lounge carpet, crashing into squeaky toys or setting off some brightly coloured plastic object which lights up and plays a tune, especially when it comes into contact with a right buttock. We’ve knocked parts of the play pen over, had to extract pieces of Lego from our behinds and given the stuffed toy penguin in the room more than enough to stare at.

Another recent discovery – something I have always fantasised about being ‘taken’ on – has been the kitchen table. I feared it would be either too cold and hard or not withstand my weight, but was proven wrong on both accounts. I had often talked about being done on the table, but hadn’t expected it to happen. But the mere suggestion of something to The Man makes it something that will happen.

Next time, though, I want the kettle to be boiling, pans of soup and stew to be bubbling over the top and the room to be so hot and steamy that it’s impossible to tell whether it’s been caused by our sexual passion or the over-cooked food. I also want to give the worktops a try, if they aren’t littered with vegetable peelings…