Dear Agony Ivy

Infidelity strikes again

I married my husband three years ago and at first everything seemed fine. Then I began to see signs that he might not be as faithful as he claimed to be. On one occasion I found part of a woman's underwear in his jacket pocket but he assured me that he had found it in the street and brought it home in case the undergarments were my size. In fact they were far too small. Last week I returned home suddenly from shopping and heard grunting noises coming from the bedroom. I flung open the door and found my husband and a young woman completely naked and engaged flat-out in an intimate act which can hardly be described in a family newspaper. However, it can be abbreviated to two numbers. Obviously I confronted them and his explanation was that he is a Mormon whilst she claimed to be looking for some lost underwear. I am now completely confused and am hoping you can sort me out.

Naïve Nora

Agony Ivy writes: Well, I suppose anything is possible in Pattaya. It must have struck you as an amazing coincidence that the woman who lost her knickers came to your house for a search. If you believe that, you presumably believe that the Zombies Are Real website is designed for fully rational people. Mormons are men who believe that they can have several wives at the same timer and they will quote the Scriptures to justify their shocking behavior. There is nothing you can do other than accepting a poor marriage or suing for divorce. Thank you for sending me the photo you took of your husband and the other woman. I still can't work out which two numbers they represent.

Dear Agony Ivy,

Floor polish query

As a retired farang, I retired to Pattaya several months ago and immediately fell in love with a young woman I met on a stone seat at a building site. She said that her cruel husband had thrown her out of the house and she survived only by hanging around construction sites and begging food from the workers there. After a whirlwind romance we decided to get married and, after a short honeymoon in a hotel near Naklua market, we moved into a condo which I paid for out of my retirement lump sum. My wife said she insisted on living on the top floor whereas I would have preferred a ground floor apartment as I get very breathless and the lift is often out of order. I returned the other day and noticed that my wife had removed the safety rail on the balcony even though she knows I have no head for heights. Another strange thing is that she has started polishing the floor every day in the area of the balcony, though she never cleans any other area. Is she trying to tell me something?

Breathless Bert

Agony Ivy writes: There are a number of solutions. She might be suggesting you employ a morning cleaner to do a more professional job or she could simply prefer living above the level where mosquitoes congregate. It is also possible that she is planning your downfall, literally and figuratively, by polishing an area where you could tumble in a very dramatic fashion. You must accept you have only yourself to blame. No guidebook or internet chat line has ever recommended building sites as the ideal venue to meet your bride-to-be. I suggest you take the next available plane to Manchester.

Dear Agony Ivy,

Sexless marriage

I am a 51 year old woman trapped in a loveless and sexless marriage with a man several years my junior. I have to be frank and confess that the very idea of sex these days disgusts me. Actually I was never particularly fond of it in the first place. I do not think that Dan (his name) loves me but he often demands sex when he comes home drunk from the pub. I usually get out of the problem by pouring him a double whiskey so that he will, hopefully, fall asleep. It usually works, as a matter of fact. But there must be a better solution.

Miserable Myra

Agony Ivy writes: I am sending you under plain cover a copy of my pamphlet Sexual Satisfaction Without Touching which is full of surprises. I particularly bring to your attention the third paragraph on page 5, although you then would need to go to the expense of purchasing a new pair of oven gloves.