Locking our suite and striding to catch up with my sisters, I realised that of all the onboard activities offered, the fine art of table-turning was the favourite. Women who’d been judged, ranked, rated on their looks from car windows and building sites their whole lives were now judging, ranking and rating men, with a casual sweep of a hungry eye.

All except Amber, of course, whose preferred leisure pursuit was turning out to be ‘raining on parades’.

Emerald hated gyms, especially the illogical instruction to wear loose-fitting clothing. ‘If I had any loose-fitting clothing, I wouldn’t have to come to the gym, now, would I?’ she always said. But strolling past the fitness area on the way to lunch, Emerald paused to watch a tanned he-man with pneumatic buttocks performing chin-ups with one hand. ‘Now that could tempt me to the gym. What machine should I use to impress that hunk of spunk?’

‘Um . . . the ATM?’ Amber suggested.

As we passed the rock-climbing wall after lunch, Emerald paused to watch a taut-torsoed Apollo hauling himself upwards with gravity-defying ease.

‘Oh my god. Check out the guy with the pecs. I’d like to ride that bucking bronco all over the rodeo!’

‘Okay, this is getting pervy, now,’ Amber rebuked. ‘The guy’s so young his pyjamas probably have little feet.’

At dinner, the spectacle of middle-aged women flirting with cubs had Amber rolling her eyes so often I worried people would think she was having a seizure.

‘Emerald, as a vet, aren’t you finding these human mating rituals a tad dull? I mean, at least in the animal kingdom you’re occasionally treated to a flash of bright feathers or a cascade of lovely song. Braindead boys strutting and flexing and setting fire to their farts doesn’t quite compare,’ she said.

‘Just because they’re young doesn’t mean they don’t have things to offer,’ Emerald countered. ‘Or that they’re not smart. Millennial males get a bad rap. To be fair, quite a few defy their stereotype . . .’

On comedic cue, the boys at the next table, most of whom seemed to have only recently been introduced to cutlery, started throwing food at each other and attempting to catch it in their mouths like Sea World seals, which set Amber off on another bout of frenetic eye-rolling.

‘You keep doing that and you’re going to shake something loose in there,’ Emerald said, laughingly.

Our big sister kept right on cooing over the selection of men on offer as though she were trying to find the Caramel Indulgence in a box of Milk Tray. The more she looked, the more determined she became to sample every flavour, even if it meant taking a nibble of one then popping him back in the box.

The first toy boy Emerald brought back to her cabin didn’t pass the taste-test. Emerald described him as the hard toffee that’s always left over in the chocolate box.