Online affairs are even more sleazy than the real thing Photographs taken in the National Assembly clearly showed that one of the words used during the game was mufle, which can be translated as "cad" or "oaf." Either term could be applied to the British MPs who have been indulging in a different form of time-wasting from our own back benches. This week, it was revealed that within a seven-month period, MPs, Lords and their employees clicked on an "infidelity website" named Out of Town Affairs no fewer than 52,375 times. If the site's home page is anything to go by, 40-year-old Scarlett from Embsay (pictured on all fours and naked except for what looks like a child's tutu) doesn't need to be told she's got nice eyes to seal the deal. I'd hazard a guess that she and the other Out of Townites are members of that rare and classy breed: the Sure Thing. Now, anyone who has ever visited the Commons will know that the place is a shrine to boredom. Aside from counting how many times your fellow MP can get the word "asparagus" into his agriculture speech, there's really only trichotillomania (the compulsion to pull out one's own hair and eyelashes) and affairs to fill the time. But there's something about notional affairs that's almost worse than the real thing. Virtual cheating (because let's face it, most of these MPs are probably just signing up for a bit of between-Bill titillation, and the female aides are only logging on to try to catch them at it) always reminds me of the grateful-eyed men you see in Stringfellows handing over £20 notes to naked, gyrating women they're not allowed to touch. It's adolescent and cowardly. I suspect most wives would rather their husbands had a real affair than find out he'd been secretly writing his own "sex-date diary" or "reading and sending dirty messages" - as Out of Town Affairs encourages its members to do. Ideally, neither of those things was discovered by the many MPs" wives who no doubt spent yesterday trawling through their husbands" search histories. And, ideally, the poor beleaguered male MPs who are cut off from their spouses (and only have 146 female counterparts with whom to flirt) would stick to good, honest time-killing pursuits like making origami shapes with their order papers or clearing out their spam boxes. They might even consider emulating their French counterparts, taking up online Scrabble and - at the very least - keeping the extramarital romps where they belong: offline.