How many people would consider having an affair, were they genuinely in a position to do so?

By this I mean the practical consideration, rather than any moral deliberations. You cannot have an affair without at least two willing participants, and for many unhappy singletons, procuring one partner already presents a seemingly insurmountable obstacle – let alone a second.

Hence, most people avoid the moral conundrum altogether by virtue of the fact that they will quite literally never find themselves in a situation where an affair is a realistic possibility.

But what if it is?

Perhaps you earn a lot of money and are still in possession of both a decent head of hair and a full set of teeth. Perhaps you’re a successful tech CEO.

You must then consider whether you – and your accomplice – will be able to keep a lid on everything as the affair develops.

Many people believe that lies and concealed truths inevitably accumulate until, one day, the dam bursts and everything comes gushing out.

But this isn’t always true. Some deceptions remain tidily contained, kept in balance and never likely to overflow. The glass half full (of lies) perspective.

I’m still fascinated by the question of what exactly the now ex-Astronomer CEO got wrong. Got, as opposed to did – which, according to most people’s moral compass, is pretty cut and dry.

As far as I understand it, his romantic liaison with his Chief People Officer had, prior to the Coldplay concert, gone undiscovered. And at the risk of judging a book by its cover, the contentment on their faces before they realised they were on camera gave the impression that the dam was not about to burst.

They were quite obviously getting away with it, and it took a completely random event – i.e. a kiss cam and some light banter from Chris Martin – to expose them.

By any estimation, they were incredibly unlucky.

And yet, I find it hard to believe the deception could have continued indefinitely. Don’t shit where you eat, as the beautifully crude and colloquial idiom goes.

As we settle down – professionally, domestically, geographically – our social radius naturally shrinks. From a romantic perspective, what was once a vast sea with plenty of fish becomes more akin to a sad duck pond, the scope for illicit romance limited to friends, colleagues, your friend’s partner, your partner’s friend.

If your goal is to avoid detection, these are spectacularly poor choices. Take heed, all the yearning CEOs and Chief People Officers out there.

Far better to embark on an affair with someone entirely removed from your social circle. A former friend of mine – I say former, as the individual in question disappeared without trace two decades ago – managed to lead a classic double life for several years, avoiding even the slightest hint of suspicion before his luck gave way and his duplicity was inadvertently laid bare.

Of course, the ideal scenario has already been explored courtesy of classic BBC sitcom Goodnight Sweetheart. It’s the story of a married TV repairman in 1990s London who stumbles upon a time portal in East London that allows him to travel back to the 1940s during World War II, whereupon he starts a second relationship with Phoebe, a barmaid at the Royal Oak pub, with whom he eventually marries and starts a family.

It was an outrageously amoral representation of bigamy for a mainstream TV audience, and one wonders who was the sick SOB who signed off on the project in the first place. But continuing to leave all moral issues aside, the requirement for time travel presents a seemingly insurmountable obstacle for any prospective bigamist.

So let me offer up an alternative scenario, courtesy of classic Alfred Hitchcock film Strangers on a Train. Two unhappily married men strike up a conversation on a train. Their chat soon drifts to the subject of affairs. Both are tempted by the idea, but fearful of the consequences should they be discovered. And so they devise an ingenious solution: each will embark on an affair with the other’s wife.

As strangers with entirely separate lives, the risk of their transgressions making it back to the domestic doorstep is virtually zero. No mutual friends. No suspicious overlaps. No trail.

It’s a twist that might even exceed the brilliance of Hitchcock’s original, because in this version the discretion of the wives is practically guaranteed, their complicity unwitting, their silence assured.

Until one night, they both show up at a Coldplay concert. And are unwittingly caught on kiss cam.