There are certain kinds of obnoxious men I try to avoid whenever possible. Adam is one of them. He’s rude, arrogant and loves forcing his boorish opinions on everyone he comes across – especially people who didn’t ask to hear them.

At a recent dinner party, he told one friend, who had just announced her long-awaited second pregnancy, that he’d guessed weeks before she told us all the happy news – ‘because she was looking much bigger around the middle’.

He always seems to be making comments on women’s shape and size; he once told me, a few months after the birth of my second child, that I was ‘looking better’ – with the clear implication that I was not looking ‘good’ before.

Waiting in the school playground earlier this week, he loudly announced that his daughter’s teacher was ‘stupid’ and ‘the worst in the school’ – well within the poor woman’s earshot.

And then there are his jokes. Often verging on sexist, racist and xenophobic, he guffaws extra loudly to fill the deafening silence from us around each grim punchline.

If he asks me one more time what you call a lesbian rapper, or a virgin on a water bed, I will not be responsible for my actions (and no, you do not want to know the answers).

Adam, we all agree, is about the worst kind of man you can get. Unfortunately, he also happens to be married to my best friend.

When they first got together, a little over ten years ago, I was sure it wouldn’t last. I could tell from our very first meeting – where he directed all conversation to my then-boyfriend, not me, and kept snaking his arm territorially around my friend’s waist – that he wasn’t a keeper.

She’d had a string of bad relationships and he, with his flash car and ready supply of gifts and compliments, was surely just a rebound fling?

But, as the months and years passed, things got serious between them. An elaborate engagement, extravagant wedding (with awkward bridesmaid duties for me) and two admittedly adorable children followed – and, somehow, I’ve never found the right time to tell her what I really think of the man she’s chosen to spend her life with. I’m not the only one who feels this way. The other three girls in our close circle hate him, too, and none of our husbands can stand him.

Mine tells me Adam is so self- obsessed he has no clue what we do for a living, yet harps on about himself so much my husband could recite his full CV.

Luckily, Adam doesn’t think women are worthy of indulging in conversation about his (very boring) job in accountancy.

It’s not like he earns more than me, or indeed my husband, but as he commutes into the City every day he seems to think this makes him somehow superior to us ‘village folk’. He refers to his wife’s friends as ‘you lot’ – assuming our interests amount to little more than housework and school runs. If he ever deigns to do these things, when my friend is having a well-earned break, we hear about little else for weeks.

The way he sees it, he is God’s gift – not only to his wife and children, but to all women; indeed, all humankind. Though he’s far from an Adonis – receding hairline, salt-and-pepper beard, paunch around the middle – he’s a smarmy flirt, simply assuming we find him attractive.

His son, my gorgeous godson, recently competed in a cross-country competition and, rather than cheering him on from the sidelines, he spent the whole race talking loudly about how brilliant he was at running when he was at school.

The same happened when his daughter won an art prize; rather than boasting about how talented she is, he just smiled smugly and said: ‘She gets it from her dad.’

Mystifyingly, my friend just doesn’t see it. Theirs is the great inexplicable love match of our time: she seems immune to his terrible sense of humour; indifferent to his rudeness and – bafflingly – never, ever rants about him behind his back. She seems not to care (or is somehow able to ignore) how her husband dominates conversations, shouts other people down and never shows a jot of interest in any of her friends’ lives.

Could he spend hours talking at me without asking a single question? Absolutely. Could he name my two children? I doubt it.

Up until now, this tricky situation has been manageable – as they lived 250 miles away. We’ve navigated weekends away together, family days out and countless dinner parties through gritted teeth (and irate venting once he’s out of earshot).

Though I’ve never lost my rag with him, he’s seen me roll my eyes and tell him off from time to time – but I don’t think either of them has an inkling of the depths of my loathing. But then, a year ago, my best friend decided to move across the country for work – and she and her family now live just a mile down the road from us, on the outskirts of a small village in the English countryside.

I was overjoyed at first, and adore having her so close. Now, our kids – all under 10 and thick as thieves – can grow up together, just as we did, and I’ve loved introducing her to the local school mums for play dates and nights out. But the proximity of her vile husband is fast becoming a serious problem.

Whenever she invites us to something as a couple, or mentions that Adam will be there too, I wrack my brain for excuses so our paths don’t cross. Understandably, the man seems to have absolutely no friends of his own; even his workmates don’t seem to want to socialise with him. And who could blame them? But that means he’s always piggybacking on her social circle.

My husband, who now rolls his eyes at the mention of Adam’s name, and finds him just as ghastly as I do, has taken to ‘working late’ when we’re meant to be having dinner at their house. I’ve started planning activities on days I know he’s not at home. Even my kids seem to prefer it when he’s not around, as everything is just a little bit more fun. They seem to have picked up on the vibe that Mummy does not like this man.

As for my best friend, I’m pretty sure the penny hasn’t dropped. And long may it last. For if she ever finds out how I feel, it could drive an impossible wedge between us. And if he finds out, I worry he’ll forbid her from talking to me ever again – and I couldn’t cope with that. He’s just the sort of petty man who would do that, and I wouldn’t put it past him to make her choose between her family and her friends.

So instead I’m focusing on finding some redeeming qualities in this lumbering bozo who’s won my best mate’s heart. Surely, if she – a strong, independent, rational woman – can love him, he must have some likeable traits? Having reassessed his social skills, parenting ability and general personality, none have yet sprung to mind.

For now, I’ll just keep playing along, avoiding him at all costs – and praying their love story has a happy ending: divorce.

Names have been changed.