Mowing the grass on a sit-on mower may well be one of the seminal moments in a troubled woman's life: as not much brain is required to turn the monster around the edges and career down the chosen pattern, what is one to do but muse over life? Mistakes, moods, resentment, frustrations, they all circle over me like blood-thirsty vultures. My pains travel with me, curled up round my neck like a fur coat, leaving fatalities behind: the joy I could have had by watching the sun go down over the lakes, the peace I could have enjoyed just smelling the green freshness of grass just cut, the thrill of listening to my boys' excited voices, playing with the hose and occasionally bashing each other's head..

Mowing the grass lends itself to meditation. I know I am frustrated and verging on the manic-depressive: surely recognizing the beast is winning half the battle? Or perhaps the game becomes even more dangerous, when you are not just a blind force precipitating a carefully balanced situation, but a thinking tank who meticulously studies the hand destiny has dealt her?

The truth is, I am physically tired after a day spend pulling weeds, setting up/clearing up the BBQ and playing frisbee with my bundles of nuclear energy, but I still know that something is missing: it is not the all encompassing and devouring tiredness which sends people to bed at sunset. This morning, I had yet another tiff with my husband over some demeaning little issue typical of everyday life. I find myself, once again, contemplating seduction of a stranger as a way to even up scores in a life I do not seem to control any more that my boys can control that frightening frisbee.

What's seduction, in fact, if not the application of a form of control over an unsuspecting, innocent bystander?

Would I not be better off showing my lust and serving it up plain on the plate of shame and marital guilt?

No, it isn't that kind of seduction. I am channelling my pure lust into a person because I need to be wanted for what I am not; I am tired of being wanted for who I am, the mother and nurse, housekeeper, social diary keeper and occasionally, well toned and presented wife.

Deep inside long forgotten memories, there is a girl who does not know a man can desire her; she does not notice the looks, the tone of voice or the attention lavished upon her. She does not realise that a man can live for one of her smiles, relish the tone of her voice, and think of her all night long.

Well, I have been that girl and wish to reproduce the circumstances which allow me to seduce without apparent intent. Does anybody understand what I am talking about, or have I caught too much sun today?

My posh neighbour down the hill may be unsuspecting, but has been targeted because I know that he fancies me; old-fashioned as he is, his compliments have been rare and well expressed. I have smiled coyly in the past, not quite knowing what to answer. Now that I have felt lonely and ignored by my rightful partner, those words have grown in weight and may spell disaster. For whom, I do not know.

A game, my reign for a game!