A lads-only holiday? Gulp…

love, sex and dating

My boyfriend has just been on a lads’ weekend. This sentence is one that can make even the most secure-in-their-relationship woman twitchy.

Why the stress?

Basically, it’s about cheating. I mean, we can delude ourselves that the anxiety is about our beloved sustaining an injury. Or that, in a blur of sambuca shots and testosterone, he’ll get deported or robbed. But what we really fear is the blonde at the bar.

For me, this boys’ break disquiet can be traced back to my youth. From that whole ‘what goes on tour stays on tour’ mentality I witnessed at a rugby-worshipping university in the 90s. There I saw first-hand the outcomes of male peer pressure.

In the student union there would be overt encouragement to down pints of vodka (laced with mouthwash) and set fire to a length of loo roll originating between the bottom cheeks of a fellow player.

Take the team abroad and the behaviour would ramp up to the next level (yes, there is one), where infidelity was not so much tolerated as celebrated.

Once far enough away from familiar surroundings, the dominant alpha would lead his teammates in visiting establishments of the night and drinking till they lost control of bodily functions. Said alpha was only happy if everyone returned to the UK with a Toblerone and an STI.

Meanwhile, back home, a large contingent of the wags would be going crazy.

I felt for those girls, their childhood experiences or previous relationships had given them attachment issues. They’d exhibit Exorcist-level head spinning and Defcon 1 feelings of anxiety; petrified that their beloveds would sign up to the ‘out of sight, out of mind’ doctrine.

My friend works in professional sports and says cheating on tour is normalised. Rugby players can be dogs, she says, but cricketers are the worst. She would observe batsmen saying tearful goodbyes to their wives at the airport one morning only to be evicting groupies from their rooms the next.

And suspended reality is not only a potent aphrodisiac for men. I’ve seen some dubious behaviour on hen nights. And work trips. Back when I spent much of my life on fashion shoots in the Caribbean, the heady mix of genetically blessed people, free-flowing booze, plus exotic location seemed to shelve normal-life rules and loosen attitudes to fidelity. Models fervent in their devotion to their spouse on the first night were giggling in corners with the photographer by the third and emerging from his bedroom before the week’s end.

I felt for some partners at home. They’d call 20 times a day seeking reassurance. Which is, blatantly, 19 times too many.

What my mature self would like to tell them is you can’t control someone else’s behaviour, only be confident in your own fortitude in dealing with it. But, I think, however well-adjusted you are we all need reassurance. And it’s a sign of a respectful and caring partner that they make time to check in even when they’re otherwise engaged and having fun. Which the boyfriend dutifully did.

I’m genuinely glad he has bros he can bond with because I love going away with my girlfriends. And it has nothing to do with cheating and everything to do with laughing to the point of incontinence and having so much to discuss you need agenda points.

Anyway, the boyfriend is back. Alcohol poisoning? Mild. Wallet? Considerably lighter. Sleep? Lacking. And after sharing a room with his mate, whose snore is louder than a 747 takeoff, he has a new appreciation for me as a bedfellow. Win.

In fact, the only real flashback to boys’ trips of yore is the ongoing mystery of exactly how the contents of his suitcase came to be damp.

Baby steps, people.

It’s not just men. I’ve seen some dubious behaviour on hen nights

@lifesrosie @youmagazine