A holiday thrusts the issue of sexting into my mind – but autocorrect and Instagram filters dampen the passion

Thrust, thrust, thrust. Bang, bang, bang. I’ve been listening to this for the past four evenings. Two people sweating and panting in the room above, in a hotel too close to a busy road, which serves spaghetti that is cold as it hits the plate.

I’m sharing a twin room with my mother – hoping to God she isn’t hearing this too. But I know she is, because in the darkness the shape of the room changes when she sits up in bed.

Autocorrect keeps changing 'clit' to 'clot'