Heartbroken, weepy, 18 and desolate after being dumped by my first serious boyfriend, I went to stay with a girlfriend in Cannes. Lucky me to be able to buzz off to the French Riviera. My friend’s family ran a small B&B, in which I stayed. Every day, I walked to the beach, alone, while my friend was working and often passed and chatted to three amusing British boys, who were giving out leaflets. But they were in trouble. They had put their possessions into left luggage and couldn’t afford to get them out, even with their leafleting wages. They couldn’t go home, the price was rising, their luggage was trapped and they were stumped. And hungry.

Michele Hanson, warm, witty and much-loved columnist, dies age 75 Read more

“I can make you some dinner,” I said because I was allowed to use the B&B kitchen. I suggested a simple menu and they asked what was for pudding.

“Me!” I said, wittily, I thought. An obvious joke. I’d barely slept with anyone, not even the Boyfriend, so the idea of sleeping with three boys at once was clearly a mad fantasy, wasn’t it? Ha, ha, ha! I looked crap, and so did they. One had small boils all over his face. Nobody could possibly fancy anyone. I lent them the few quid to get their luggage back and off I went to organise dinner.

Round came the boys and ate their first course. Then the atmosphere turned a bit funny. They surely couldn’t have thought I meant it, could they? And I couldn’t ask them or explain because that would mean I thought they were thick. Then they locked the dining room door from the inside. Should I scream for the night porter?

Teenagers, ageing and tortoise sex – Michele Hanson was so full of mischief and wisdom Read more

No. Whatever would he think? So I pretended the boys could take turns, sent two into the kitchen, and kept the one who seemed most reasonable with me. “You’ve got the wrong idea,” I told him, feeling rather sullied. “That was a joke.”

“Girls don’t make jokes like that,” said he, furious.

“‘I do,” I said and went to call the other two back, but they weren’t in the kitchen. Where could they be? They had crept along the balcony to see if they could observe us at it through the window. Yuk. Now I am a grownup, this comes as no surprise, but back then I wasn’t at the forefront of the sexual revolution, so it was a bit of a rude shock. In they came, heard about my joke, were rather sullen, and not satisfied with my explanation. “Why did you ask us to dinner, then?”

“Because you were hungry and had no money!” Silly me. I hadn’t realised that if a man had cracked that joke, it would have been banter, but, from me, it was a serious invitation to a gangbang. I’m tremendously disappointed that nothing much seems to have changed.