My amorous in-laws are in-bound for New Year. Eww…

It’s that time of year, for households up and down the land, when the in-laws are in-bound, each bringing with them their own very particular brand of dread and fear.

For most, it will be the thinly-veiled critique of how the household is run, how the kids are parented or how the turkey was cooked. But I don’t need to be worried about any of this because I am dreading the arrival of Robin and Ros (not their real names) for an explicit reason. Very explicit.

After they went through a particularly rocky period in their 40-year marriage in 2022, my wife suggested that her parents enter marriage counselling before making any drastic decisions.

I don’t know who that marriage counsellor was, but they were clearly at the top of their game because they made Robin and Ros realise that they have so much more in common with one another than they believed – and that staying together, for the sake of themselves, not their grown-up children, was absolutely what they should focus on.

Now this (generally perfectly charming) elderly couple’s relationship is back on track. Obviously we all welcome their rapprochement. But between nearly splitting up, getting counselling and getting back together, something has awoken old passions in this elderly couple and reignited flames of lust and desire that had clearly long been extinguished. And, boy oh boy, are those flames blazing brightly.

Last year, on their first night with us, I politely suggested that they must be tired after their cramped coach trip down to the West Country and that they should go to bed whenever they wanted and treat our house like their own. They took me at my word and jumped at the opportunity to retire to the spare bedroom above our living room. How sweet! They were tired. Poor old things.

Well, judging by the sounds that presently interrupted my enjoyment of Match of the Day, tiredness was not an issue. Shuteye was clearly not the opportunity they wanted to jump at.

Now, I’m no prude. In fact, I found it rather amusing (my wife looked like she was about to be sick). But what I didn’t realise then was that their boundless passions would not be confined behind closed doors.

The next day, for example, on walking into the kitchen for a mince pie, I found them locked in a passionate embrace with hands roving everywhere. It took them a few seconds to detect my presence and untangle themselves without the merest hint of a blush or embarrassment. In fact, to my horror, Robin actually winked at me as they made their way back upstairs, which is when I decided that it might be a good time to go out for a bit.

Even at our New Year’s Day dinner table they were all over each other to the point that it put me off my prawn cocktail. I readily accepted my kids’ desperate pleas to leave the table early.

And so to New Year 2024, and we await the return of the porn-star pensioners. I’ve asked my wife to have a word with them before they arrive, but she flatly refuses, saying that it’s just too embarrassing. She says I’m going to have to do it instead.

I’m not entirely sure how or even if I have the stomach for it, but I do know that our Happy New Year depends on it.

However, I do have a back-up plan. I’ve laid down thick winter rugs in the spare room to muffle any moaning. If that fails, I’ve got buckets of cold

water on standby.

Upon walking into the kitchen for a mince pie, I found them locked in a passionate embrace, hands roving everywhere