I have just come back from a much-anticipated girls’ holiday to Puglia, and to say that it fulfilled expectations would be an understatement. We swam, we napped, we reminisced, we ate little bits of crudo alongside lovely sips of fiano, we danced around the table of the Airbnb while singing along to Sarà perché ti amo. Most of all, we laughed, sometimes until our stomachs hurt and our faces were wet with tears.

What a joy the girls’ trip is (despite our ages, “women” doesn’t feel right here somehow). Maybe that’s because at times during the holiday I was transported back to when we were indeed “girls” and studying together in Italy (although this time with far less street harassment – a realisation that prompted mixed feelings until a belated “Che bellissime!” saved the day).

Powered by Aperol – who may as well sponsor them at this point – thousands of girls’ trips will be taking place as I write. At this very moment, I can almost guarantee that somewhere in southern Europe, a woman is detailing her husband’s domestic habits with the meticulous comic precision of a standup routine, as her crochet-clad audience cackle, rattle........

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