It’s one o’clock in the morning and I am barefoot on a beach near Palermo dancing to the kind of Euro-pop song that never quite reaches the UK.
“I want to be your disco boy/ I want to dance with you tonight, baby!” I sing along with the crowd as we jump up and down on the sand, tepid vino bianco slopping over our hands.
This is unvarnished gap-year behaviour (some of the group are so legless they never make it back to the coach returning us to Palermo). Except we are not teenagers. We are grown-ups in our twenties, thirties and (putting my hand up here) even our fifties.
We are from England, Ireland, Romania, Finland, Belarus, Sweden, Spain and France. Actually, put a
