As a mature woman of the world I'm rarely surprised by the antics of men when they go off on their jollies, and although I am the keeper of many secrets, I'm also a firm believer in what goes on tour stays on tour.
But dear reader, as only YOU will read this little story, I feel confident that just this once, it's OK to share. But please don't tell a soul will you. It would be callous to wreck what is clearly a relationship built on honesty and trust.
This is the true story of a man called ......well let's call him DICK. This is not his real name, but let's call him Dick anyway.
Leaving his wife at home, Dick flew to Spain on his own to enjoy a spot of fishing, and to visit as many bars as he could, to consume what turned out to be many, many glasses of Rioja. 
As hostess with the leastest, I ended up spending several evenings with Dick, he was a generous man and he also treated my partner and I to many, many glasses of Rioja too! It would have been churlish to refuse.
I heard his life story almost every night usually over his favorite T bone steak and oh yes, the Rioja. It was usually around the 4th glass that he got maudlin, with long drawn out examples of what a wonderful woman his wife was, and how she was the love of his life.
Dick was a man of around 48 years old and when sober, he was quite charismatic, with some good looks lurking in his lived in face. He had an engaging wit, and coupled with his throaty Liverpool accent, he was entertaining and fun, at least he was during glasses 1, 2 and 3 of Rioja.
Every night during our meal, Dick would usually ring his wife and describe what he was eating, and tell her what he had been doing that day. Sitting next to him, it was impossible not to overhear these conversations, all littered with I love you's, I miss you's and I can't wait to see you's. When in full flow, Dick was the Master of Cheese but it was encouraging to hear that romance was alive and well and lapping at the banks of the Mersey.
On the night before his departure, Dick pulled out all the stops on his nightly call to his woman. We all heard how he couldn't live without her, that she was all he ever wanted and he couldn't wait to hold her in his arms. It would be fair to say, our ice bucket nearly became dual purpose, and it was hard for me to stifle my giggles. But he also reassured her that he was soon heading back to his Hotel to get ready for his early start home the next day.
With explicit instructions that we would collect Dick outside his Hotel at 6.00 a.m. the next morning for the journey back to the airport, we said our Goodnights, and left him in the bar. BIG MISTAKE!
At the allotted hour we waited outside Dick's Hotel, and we waited, and waited, but there was no sign of Dick. Time was marching on and we needed to get going.
We had no way of getting into the Hotel as the front door was firmly locked to anyone who did not have a room, but joy of joys, twenty minutes later Antonio the bread man rocked up in his three wheeled Tuk Tuk, pressed the secret squirrel button, and bingo, the door was unlocked.
What followed would not have been out of place in a Whitehall Farce, and if you HAD been in the audience, you wouldn't have been disappointed either.
We had no idea what room Dick was in, and we felt that it was not a sociably acceptable hour to be banging on random doors in the vain hope that Dick would be found behind one of them.
So my partner and Antonio, having offloaded his baguettes, decided that as the lesser of the two not very practical evils, a man would be roused from his sleep far more effectively by a continual loud two finger whistle and the fairly consistent shouting of DICK, WHERE ARE YOU, whilst walking up and down every corridor of the 4 story Hotel.
To be honest, I wasn't entirely convinced that this approach would find the missing Dick, but without any better idea's, as a sensible woman, I decided to keep quiet. I already had one Mr Grumpy on my hands and Antonio was also desperate to get back to his buns.
Floors 1 and 2 remained steadfastly asleep, but halfway round floor 3, a breakthrough of sorts occured. I spotted a wide open door and went to investigate. Believe me, the sight which met my eyes was worthy of any Post Traumatic Shock I may thereafter have suffered.
There, flat on his back, in all his glory, with his crown jewels on display, laid Dick, out for the count. The clothes he had been wearing in the bar, were nowhere to be seen, and it was left to us to rifle through his suprisingly neatly packed luggage to get him half decent, and back to the airport for his flight home, and romantic reunion. No easy task after recalling the 4 empty wine bottles on the table the night before. But it became clear that his wine consumption didn't end when I thought.
We had waved Bye Bye to Dick at around midnight, and had finally located him at about 6.30 a.m. that morning. Given his extra night time activities, he was plainly still drunk as a skunk, and had not had enough time to sleep it off.
It turned out that Dick had got over his bout of lovesickness very soon after he'd ended his call to his 'darling' wife, and the waiter had seen fit to serve Dick yet another bottle of wine, and then invited him to a 'special' bar that he knew of. 
It was one of those out of town bars, just far enough away from any suspicious Spanish wives, and just that bit to far to walk to.
I'm sure you will have seen one before, they often have red neon lights outside and for some reason the outline of a female, and a pole.
Yes, our man Dick, had apparantly sampled the delights of more than a roundabout girl. This one worked from a pit stop Bar, and had accompanied him back to his Hotel where she had also relieved him of his expensive camera, watch, and the contents of his wallet, and rather bizarrely, all of the clothes he had been wearing, including his under crackers!
Of course, I averted my eyes as my partner and the bread man tucked Dick's dick, and accompanying baggage back into a fresh pair of underpants, and perhaps a little ungraciously, I recall thinking to myself that his long suffering wife possibly felt a little short changed when 'dancing' on his pole.
They do say size doesn't matter, but perhaps in light of her light fingers, (and having been an expert in such matters) the lady of the night possibly also felt a sense of disappointment, and took her revenge.
We bundled Dick out of the Hotel room, and dragged him to the lift. My partner was, by this time elevated to Lord Grumpy of Grumpy Town and was decidedly not amused. Neither was I.
Even before all this, Dick was clearly a lover of pies and it felt like he had eaten his own body weight of the meat and two veg variety overnight. He was like a dead man on legs, but we propped him up in the back of the car and drove like the clappers through the empty streets towards the Aeropuerto and hoped for the best.
As you can imagine there was not much conversation flowing from the back seat of the car, and it was a very deflated Dick we eventually delivered back to the check in desk.
The engaging wit had left Dicks building, and Mr Acutely Embarrassed of Liverpool had taken up residence instead. He couldn't really meet my eyes when we hugged farewell, and although I didn't comment, I swear my partner gave him a somewhat sheepish nod of man to man sympathy.
Once we had seen him safely through the boarding gate, our obligations were fulfilled, our work there was done, and we breathed a sigh of relief to finally see the back of him.
After all, we'd already seen more than enough of his front!
My only regret is that I couldn't have been a fly on the wall when Dick fell back into the arms of his wife at the other end of his journey, and how he explained the missing camera, watch and clothes, and oh yes, how did he account for those underpants.
As a woman, I felt sure she would notice they were also missing.
WORRA DICK!