If you want to cheat on your other half and be sure of getting away with it, then you'd better move to Spain.

Because there, cheating is celebrated as an art form.

From the moment they start school, children begin to devise ways of foxing their teachers. And before exams students spend more time devising elaborate methods of cheating than they do studying.

They apparently go to great lengths to invent all sorts of ingenious scams - such as cleverly disguising two-way radios and soaking the labels off lemonade bottles, writing on the back and sticking them on again (the words appear as you sup).

The practice has been going on for decades, and schools supposedly turn a blind eye. In fact, the Spanish are so proud of their cheating prowess they are staging an exhibition on the subject.

But where would it end? Getting away with it at school (qualifications must be totally meaningless) surely tempts people to cheat in all walks of life - at board games, on the golf course, and on their husbands and wives.

Here, it's a different story. Cheating is a dirty word and thankfully, despite trying, we're not very good at it. My husband admits attempting to cheat in O-level biology. He took so long to scratch the equation for photosynthesis on to his pen that by the time he'd finished he knew it by heart. He also spent ages scribbling crib notes on to his shirt tails - but accidentally stuck them in the wash.

I can relax in the knowledge that he is totally useless at pulling the wool over people's eyes. He could never have an affair - because I'd rumble him straight away.

He would almost certainly start wearing clean underwear, and brushing his teeth. He'd roll home in the early hours with lipstick on his collar, reeking of cheap perfume (under a fiver, if he'd bought it), and go bright red while claiming he was round at his mate's watching footie videos (a dead giveaway as he hates the game).

And should he somehow manage to worm his way out of it, he would definitely expose his guilt by leaving credit card slips for Burger King (the usual "Dinner for two, to go") and a receipt for a bumper pack of Viagra in his trouser pockets.

Cheating on him would be easier. I remember the last time I wore make-up for a night out. He only noticed in the taxi home, when he said my eyes looked sunken and I should go straight to bed.

People cheat if they can get away with it. There was a scandal in 1950s America surrounding a big-money quiz show for which the contestants were hand-picked and given the questions in advance. That would stick out a mile over here. Imagine Family Fortunes - viewers would instantly know something was up, if contestants were able to name six things you find in the bathroom without getting four of them wrong.

Cheating doesn't pay - I should know. I once stitched a size 8 label into my size 12 jeans to convince a boyfriend I was slimmer than I was (heaven knows why - he had a physique like Rab C Nesbit).

But it backfired unexpectedly, when he bought me a new pair for my birthday. It took some courage to admit I couldn't get them over my knees.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.