Someone, somewhere, invented the idea of the one true love. I would like to find that person, and give them a good hard slap. If ever an idea caused more pain, I can't think of it.

You can't turn on the radio at present without hearing an R&B song in which some suspicious lover has discovered their partner's infidelity by going through their credit-card receipts or analysing the manner in which they answer the phone. Dire threats are levelled at any man daring to have another woman in his crib. It's all rather pathetic.

It's pathetic, but it's also painful and infuriating.

I love two people. One is my wife, the other is a woman I have come to call my sister. She's not my genetic sister, but that's not relevant here. What is relevant is that I love them both with ardour and passion, I care deeply for their well-being, I try to spend time with them... everything you would expect of someone and their lover. There's just two of them.

I never planned it this way. At no point did I decide to love two people, any more than I ever decided to love only one. I just fell in love, twice, at the same time.

And apparently, because of the fidelity meme, that's a bad thing.

The fidelity meme, that "one true love" notion, says that I should only love one, that one or both of these relationships is doomed, that I am a bad person for being so weak as to allow my heart to lead me into this impossible predicament.

Why?

If you look up the words, you'll not see exclusivity mentioned in either fidelity or faithfulness. My wedding vows exhort me to love, cherish and nurture my wife, but they don't say, "and love no-one else," (they are, for reference, British civil vows).

Of course you won't find exclusivity mentioned: it is absurd to expect me to stop loving my parents, or my siblings, just because I have a girlfriend. That's daft. And how about my children - am I not to love them?

"Ah," say the dogmatic monogamists, "but that is a different sort of love."

Look beyond the labels, please! A different sort of love? Is there, then, one sort of love for parents, another for children, one for friends, one for lovers? Can you honestly say, those of you who have had more than one lover in their lives, that what you felt for one partner was exactly the same as what you felt for another?

Of course not. We are not pod people, we are not labels. Every relationship is different, every love unique.

It is, in my opinion, profoundly unfair to pin the "one true love" myth onto your partner. Of course your life-partner should be your friend, confidant, support, but is it fair to ask all of these things of them all the time? To ask someone to fill every need in your life is selfish, just as it is unrealistic to expect them to be able to provide everything you need.

You don't expect to see the joy of growing in your parents; you get that from your children.

The immediate monogamist's question has to be, "What's wrong with me, that you have to go to this other person?" Here's the news: you don't have to be unhappy. I'm not unhappy with my wife but if I want to go hiking I'll go with my sister because my wife isn't into that.

When people I love are with other people they love enjoying themselves, and I'm not there, I feel a mite wistful that I can't be there, but overarching that is joy that they are happy. When I see my wife dancing with her friends in a club (while I lurk in the corner) I am happy for her; when I hear that my sister and her husband have visited a spectacular iron age hill-fort, I am glad for her. I wish I enjoyed dancing, wish I could get the time off work, but that is minor.

Jealousy? Jealousy is fear and petulance. Fear that you'll be left, petulance at not getting what you want.

Well you know, I'll never want to leave either of them. I want to watch my children grow and graduate with my wife; I want to grouse about my age-stiffened joints in the gym with my sister. I want to die a very old man with them both present.

And we never get exactly what we want. I lose seven hours a day to sleep, another eight hours to my job, an hour or so to travel, and then there are the numerous other diversions and obligations that keep me from one or other of the people I love. You may as well be jealous of your employer; he takes up more of your time.

So I love two people. I make no apology for it. And yet I am made to feel that I am doing wrong by people who unthinkingly buy into the fidelity meme. I am made to feel guilty by your pressure, made to explain myself - to waste my time writing this ranting defence - because of your pressure.

Social convention is just that, social convention, and Raven brats have never been good with conventions. Since when did love obey convention? Since when can you bind the heart in red tape?

Why should I deny myself love just to look normal?