But I couldn’t get a bite. It wasn’t exactly surprising, just disappointing.

It got to 1.00 p.m. and I was getting increasingly fed up and the steak knife grew ever-heavier in my bag. A bus operator opposite one of the cafés was giving 25 per cent off half-day excursions to Alcúdia, the monastery at Valdemossa and the Caves of Drach with pearl factory pit-stop, and I remembered something on one of the online threads about a sex pest near the Caves of Drach. It was worth a shot. I had to get something out of the day.

So I bought a ticket.

The bus trip was a bumpy, drawn-out affair interspersed by the odd goat grazing on a rocky outcrop and complaints about the faulty air-conditioning. Our tour guide – Margaretha – was clearly on commission from the pearl factory where we stopped for a pee break because aside from Rafael Nadal, it was all she could talk about. Did you know Rafael Nadal’s home is over this hill? Did you know Rafael Nadal built a tennis school over there? Did you know you can all get 5 per cent discounts on earrings at the Majorica factory where it is rumoured Rafael Nadal buys all his pearls?

A blonde perm in a too-tight pink jacket and shorts constantly pecked at her husband in the row in front of me. Her pale legs were covered in purple blotches like two hunks of jamon after a street fight and her stilettos were so high she walked down the aisle like Mr Tumnus. Bardot, her name was (apparently) and his was definitely Gareth – I say definitely because of the myriad orders she barked at him – Have you got the antibac, Gareth? Could you get me a water, please, Gareth? Will you peel this apple for me, please, Gareth? Could you push me off the coach and roll me under the wheels, please, Gareth? Poor git.

Actually no, stupid git. He’s got what he paid for. I thought about stabbing her but I couldn’t summon the enthusiasm. Besides which, she seemed like a squealer.

Anyway, we got to the Drach Caves and filed off row by row and I kept the old antennae out for sex pests, nonces and unattended erect penii. Clearly Lady Luck was shining down on me because it didn’t take long for opportunity to knock. On one of the other buses that pulled up next to ours in the car park, I zoned in on three lads and their behaviour towards two skinny young girls. One of the lads, short and neck-beardy, kept twanging their vest straps in the queue for tickets. Another, in a basketball vest, kept leaning over and saying things which made the boys laugh – the girls had no reaction at all.

I forced myself into the line behind them.