After seeing pictures of a reunited Cheryl and Ashley Cole smeared across the tabloids this week I was reminded of the closest I've ever come to a blazing row with fellow columnist Debbie Leigh.

The breakdown of their marriage following his affair was such an unlikely thorny issue and I didn't think discussing it in a restaurant would be a problem.

Big mistake.

The unexpected public dispute began when I casually suggested, admittedly in unsubtle terms, that by marrying a premiership footballer the Girls Aloud singer had it coming.

Another big mistake.

It sparked a response which couldn't have been more vehement if Mrs Cole herself were sat in front of me: "Why?!" said Debbie. "You can't say that, everyone thinks that their relationship is special, that things will work out differently for them!!"

Nevertheless, I went on, it's not a huge surprise to read about someone marrying any kind of star - be it rock, movie or soccer - then watch them suffer the subsequent pain of infidelity.

But as Debbie quite rightly retorted, pre-determined odds aren't a stand-alone reason for not pursuing a relationship with someone. Besides, you can't pick who you fall in love with.

Voices were raised, a few fellow diners' heads turned and the tension ratcheted up until we both agreed to disagree and changed the subject, if only for the sake of those who'd come expecting to enjoy a peaceful bite to eat.

But why, I pondered later, had this prompted such a frenzied discussion? It wasn't because either of us is close personal friends with the Coles, after all. It was because of what they represent.

Cheryl is the epitome of wide-eyed hope, the last vestige of romantic faith in the dream of marrying a rich, handsome, loving man. Ashley is the personification of crestfallen inevitability, the perfect example of an alpha male over-empowered by self-belief, money and adulation.

The former is the ideal, the latter a worst case scenario. She is blind faith, he is pure cynicism.

While neither I nor Debbie would profess to be blinkered optimists or pessimists, we were both clinging onto either extreme as our respective starting point, as the yardstick we'd each chosen to measure life.

One of us preferred hope, even if it did mean potentially having those hopes dashed. The other stuck with suspicion, secretly hopeful that they might be proved wrong.

Even though we all eventually meet roughly somewhere in the middle, should we begin viewing life as a bed of slowly decomposing roses? Or a bed of nails which becomes curiously more comfortable over time?

Maybe it was due to our individual experiences, our general outlook or maybe our gender, but Debbie and I instinctively had to fight our corners - with Cheryl on one side and Ashley on the other - because not doing so would question our entire belief system.

Which, ironically, has all but been dismantled by the reunion, because surely the darkest doubter can't believe he's got away with it and even the most hopeful soul can't think her faith is still blind.

So what are we to believe in now? Cue another fierce lunchtime argument - and apologies in advance if you happen to be dining in the same restaurant when it erupts.