At the weekend, I organised a lunch sipping cocktails with my oldest girlfriends in an enchanting pub garden. We had finally got a date in the diary and, there we were, four middle-aged women laughing and joking, heads bowed conspiratorially ready for gossip, when suddenly Mel broke the conversation to take a call from her husband. ‘One sec,’ she said as she stepped outside, without so much as an apology or explanation when she got back. Ten minutes later and ‘ping’ another friend received a message from her man about what they were having for dinner later. Ping, ping... on it went throughout the lunch, as they interrupted the flow to tend to their needy other halves. Then came the final straw. One of my friend’s husbands arrived early to pick her up, plonked himself down, poured himself a glass of wine, complained it was warm and angrily summoned the waiter to bring ice. Excuse me, did he think he was part of the group? I wanted to pour the ice bucket over his head, but instead I clenched my teeth and swore this was the last time I’d go to such an effort. How can I say this? I am sick to death of my girlfriends putting their husbands before me. Is it too much to ask that you wait until after our lunch – just two or three hours out of your life together – to message or FaceTime your beau? Do you not understand how insulting it is to be parked and ignored when he – your better option – beckons? As soon as I hear that annoying personalised hubby ringtone (one of my friends has the Bee Gees’ Stayin’ Alive for her man, urgh), I want to hit my head against the wall for light relief. This depressing scenario has become all too familiar in my life. Before mobile phones, you could genuinely catch up with a pal with no interruptions. Now it’s like their partner is an invisible extra guest at the table, issuing endless digital summons. Some husbands even keep tabs on their wives with the location setting on their phones ‘just to make sure they’re safe’. It’s enough to make my nerves jangle and my stress levels soar. Of course, I get that my friends love and want to be with their husbands, and that their priorities have shifted. I understand that the demands of marriage can be frustrating for them, too, with loved ones on speed dial. But sometimes I wonder why friends indulge their husbands at my expense. Do they need to drop everything – including leaving our coffee catch-up early – to rush off to Boots for antihistamines because their husbands have rung with the sniffles? ‘He’s got hayfever, not typhoid,’ I want to screech. I was left fuming when another girlfriend derailed a (rare) dinner out together a few weeks back. I was just about to show her my risqué texts with a man I met on holiday, when her husband turned up out of the blue. ‘Sorry, you don’t mind, do you?’ she said, pulling up a seat for him. ‘He finished work early so I thought it’d be fun if he joined us.’ To be honest, there’s no point saying anything any more. Recently, I had a word with one mate who had let our friendship slide, and pointed out that I had been there when she was practically signing a decree nisi. We hugged and made up, but then she spent the entire afternoon on our shopping trip weeks later either ordering an online supermarket shop or WhatsApping photos of new dresses to see if her husband approved. I was flabbergasted... where was my hilarious sharp-tongued friend? This intelligent career woman who held her own in board meetings had morphed into Doris Day. It’s a recent development, and I can’t help thinking that since the menopause she’s simply desperate to keep him come what may. I know that women have the caring gene built into their DNA, and we like to nurture our loved ones. But part of me thinks that despite decades of feminism and smashing those glass ceilings, many women still fuss over their men like the pinny-wearing women of yesterday. Maybe my friends are just looking for an easy life. Instead of nagging their other half to sort his own life out, perhaps it’s simpler to respond to every query or request and do the lot yourself. But are these men doing the same for their women? Would they be thrilled if she rocked up to join the fun or leave the dog with them while they were mid-tennis/golf/squash? Or turn a blind eye if she appeared when he was sharing a matey conversation in the pub and started barking orders at the barman? I doubt it. So why is it, come our precious girl time together, they are hovering in the background? When I go to their houses, the man comes in and packs on the PDA. Even if they have been married for yonks, he still seems to want to show ownership and that he’s the boss. But for the love of God, you have all the time in the world to paw at your wife, why must you choose to do it when I’m here? So I’ve given up. Now the main time I see my friends is on social media, when I scroll through the pictures of them playing happy families on holiday or their beloved bringing them breakfast in bed #solucky. Meanwhile, I’m taking the bins out and mopping the floor. Maybe there’s the rub. As a long-term single, I have had to learn how to do most things solo. That includes arguing with the insurers when water flooded into my kitchen from the flat above recently. I didn’t have a man to scoop me up and feed me strawberries while he got his boss hat on and wrote stinking letters. Only last week, one friend accused me of being jealous. It was a sobering thought and it pulled me up sharp. Am I triggered because part of me resents their happy togetherness? I have to admit, there may be a kernel of truth in that. It is bleak going back to an empty flat when I know they’re heading home to their life as a couple. So yes, I do rely on my girls to bolster me. But I would never treat my friends like second-class citizens if I found love again. Indeed, I once dumped a man who had huffed that I spent too much time with my mates. If ever there was a red flag... Friendships to me are sacrosanct. So I haven’t always reacted in the most grown-up manner to feeling mine are being trampled on. I turned into a stroppy teenager and stomped off without saying goodbye when one pal took three calls in a row from her boyfriend during my birthday dinner. Another mate called me whiny when I asked her to stop being so lovey-dovey. I ignored her for weeks. But I don’t want to change my friends, or their relationships with their husbands. All I want is some uninterrupted girl time. So if you could please ringfence our get-togethers, and carve out time in your busy couples diary, all would be forgiven. Ditto, maybe all these husbands could give their wives some friendship space. Who knows, they may find they too benefit from an afternoon without contact. On my side, I will own my tantrums. That blow-up I had on Brighton Pier when I threw my friend’s ice cream in the sea for mentioning her new partner for the 100th time? I’m sorry. It will never happen again.