King of the swingers

I think my parents might be swingers. This is not an easy sentence to type. But the ugly truth must be told about Mr and Mrs Nunn.

"Do you have a Mitsubishi?" Mrs Nunn phoned me on Saturday to ask.

"No, you know I don't," I said. "What a stupid question."

"Well your dad has found some keys to a Mitsubishi in his jacket pocket, along with a Mitsubishi keyring. We think they might have been there since he visited you in London."

"Are you sure it's his jacket?"

"Yes," said Mrs Nunn. I think he's probably having an affair.

Mr Nunn came on the phone. "Do you know anyone who's lost a Mitsubishi?" he asked me.

"No, Dad, no I don't."

"Well, someone has put some car keys in my pocket. They're not mine. And they don't belong to anyone at tennis. They might belong to someone from my art class but I think they probably belong to your mum's fancy man."

It is all a giant cover up. Look at the evidence - the generation, the car keys, the suspicion. Clearly my parents are at the forefront of the East Midlands swinging scene. Sadly they're the only two doing it. Well, them and whoever has lost their car keys. I suppose that's one of the dangers of car-keys-in-a-stranger's-pocket sex. Can't be too careful.