“In Oxford, you’ll meet a nice, educated man who’ll take you to the theatre, and maybe to the opera. He might not be great in bed, but he can learn.”

With these words, my mother packed me off to Oxford. I was 25, and certainly not worried about Mr Right. I’d spent a year picking grapes and swatting mosquitoes Down Under, sleeping in female-only dorms.

To be frank, any guy with a working knowledge of at least one sexual position and a home in this hemisphere would’ve been fine. I imagined that Oxford could fulfil those credentials as well as anywhere. But Mum remained adamant: the city of dreaming spires would offer up the sort of son-in-law she longed for.

Except here I am: four years later, four years older, and Mum’s still sans son-in-law. Anyway, as I tell her frequently, life isn’t all about men.

Of course, it’s about a certain amount of sex – with or without men. It’s about friendship – with women, and usually complicated with men. It’s about hair removal (admittedly, often for the men), staying healthy (possibly to outlive the men), and worrying about the state of the planet (nothing to do with men). It’s about managing a household with or without a husband, and sometimes with barely a house.

And some days, it’s simply about avoiding the magazine rack in the corner shop, because each airbrushed miniature condemns me for having no time (or desire) to visit the gym. It’s exhausting.

Recently, in a bid to overcome this fatigue, I relaxed in O’Neills on George Street with a friend to discuss a certain newspaper column. A bucket of prosecco later, we’d discussed everything from shaved versus waxed (beards) to pornography and I learnt that, as the song goes, Anything Goes.

Ladies, here is a safe place where we can discuss everything mentioned above, and a whole lot more. Except maybe the gym: I hate the gym. Gentlemen, here is your chance to eavesdrop on the waxed and wonderful world of women, without annoying questions about what you think, or how you feel…

As for me? Well, Mum hasn’t been to any hat shops recently. She hasn’t even glanced at a fascinator. There’s still time, dear, she tells me, there’s still time. Time to have a whole lot of fun…with or without those lovely men, I imagine.