If anyone had told me that my life would be like this at 53 years old – lying on a sun-lounger beside the rooftop pool of a hotel in Barcelona with a nice, slightly younger man, lined up for my evening’s entertainment – well, I would have told them they were insane.

Things looked grim when my husband and I divorced 18 months ago.

The marriage wasn’t happy for a long time, but like many women I’d decided to ‘settle’ and focus my efforts on my female friendships and teenage sons, aged 15 and 18. I always suspected my husband was having affairs but thought if we didn’t talk about it, I could pretend it wasn’t happening.

The affair thing turned out to be true and this was ultimately the catalyst for splitting up but, to be honest, we weren’t happy anyway. I can see that now. We were both sleepwalking through life.

He’s now living with a woman he met on a foreign work trip. It turns out he loved sleeping with people when he was out of the UK too. It’s the one tip I’m taking from him into my new life.

Because now that I’m single, I’ve decided to dip my toe back into the waters – but only when abroad.

Holiday flings are so much simpler than one-night stands back home. There are no emotional ties, and you know you’re not going to bump into him in Waitrose. For the first time in my life, I feel in charge of my sexuality.

For a start, when it’s warm and you’re in a relaxed state of mind, you’re much more in the mood to have sex. There is something inherently freeing about the sunshine and the long afternoons.

Like many women, I’d fantasised about being with French, Spanish or Italian men. I’d heard they were more adventurous and open-minded. It turns out those rumours are true, writes Janet

Anyone who has watched the film Shirley Valentine – about a bored British housewife who has a passionate romance with a Greek man – will recognise how freeing holiday flings can be

As a girl, I remember watching my mum and her friends giggling at the film Shirley Valentine – featuring a bored middle-aged British housewife who escapes to a Greek island and has a passionate affair with a local – but now I get it completely. In fact, when I was a teenager I used to go on holiday to Spain with my best friend’s family and inevitably fall hard for a random stranger at some point during the fortnight.

Recent experiences have taught me that that teen never disappeared. She was just forgotten under a mass of laundry, football boots, and school WhatsApp groups. With the boys older and the husband gone, I’m making up for lost time.

It all started about eight months ago when I went to Barcelona. I was on a solo weekend away and used a dating app for the first time, downloading Tinder and setting my location to Barcelona, on the advice of a divorced friend.

I wasn’t intent on hooking up, I was simply curious. But then I found someone I liked the look of quite quickly – the aforementioned younger man.

I was so nervous at the prospect of meeting someone new – and out of practice too – but he made me feel comfortable straight away and cracked a few jokes over tapas. It felt very relaxed.

Since then, I have done two more similar trips to Europe.

Four months ago, I went to Florence for a long weekend and hooked up with a lovely Spanish man in his 30s. He kept up a steady stream of compliments throughout our time together. Cheesy on one level, but why not enjoy it? We talked in the bar, shared some drinks, and then went up to my room. I admit I’d made a big effort, waxing and so forth, but it was worth it.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he kept saying. ‘I love the way you look, I can’t believe you want me.’

I know some people might think I’m naive, that perhaps he was just spinning a yarn, but this was something my own husband never said to me in all the years we were married. Quite the reverse. He always made me feel as though I was lucky to be with him, like I had to service his needs. Frankly, the sex was abysmal.

Most recently, I went to Palma with some girlfriends and met an Italian guy. He was in his early 40s, so still younger than me, and was absolutely stunning – like an older Harry Styles!

We clocked one another in the hotel restaurant and he was super-flirty with me. Later, he was sitting at the bar when I went to get another round, and I asked him – quite lightly, as though it was something I did all the time – do you fancy a drink later? One thing led to another and, well, I was shown what a good lover can really do for a woman.

One of my friends on this trip was a little judgemental the next day. ‘He obviously comes to the hotel to find women to sleep with,’ she said. But I didn’t care. Isn’t that what I was doing too?

I have always insisted that my flings use a condom, and a hotel seems to me a far safer place to meet than his – or my – home.

Back in the UK, it’s much less tempting. I worry that if I pick my own location, west London, I’ll end up knowing the men who pop up. And I like to keep my age range broad, so despite being 53, I set it for men aged 35-55.

In fact, the main reason I love holiday flings is that the men aren’t British. I got to my 50s and realised I’d never slept with a man who wasn’t – and, boy, was I missing out.

Like many women, I’d fantasised about being with French, Spanish or Italian men. I’d heard they were more adventurous and open-minded; more generous in their approach to love-making and not quite so ‘wham bam’ about it all. It turns out those rumours are true.

So far I’ve slept with two Spanish men and one Italian. It seems to me they’re more generous to older women; they don’t see you as being ‘over the hill’.

When I get back home, I definitely don’t pine for these flings. Sometimes I feel a little sad that it won’t develop into anything else, but I like my own company. I get to watch my own TV, cook my own supper and spend time with my boys. I feel satisfied that I can focus on work without wasting time on men and dating. Believe me, there are too many sad men with too much baggage on UK dating apps.

I have a single friend who’s desperate to find someone on the apps and it sounds terrible. She says they’re all out of shape, beaten down by life and bitter about their exes. No thanks! Why would I settle for that?

I wouldn’t say I’m amazing in the sack, but I have tried to up my game. I keep fit and do weights at the gym. I am a curvy size 12. I wear lingerie and, for the first time, I feel attractive.

My holiday flings are teaching me that I’m a powerful, sensual female, who can get whatever she wants. Just call me Shirley.

• Janet Drake is a pseudonym. Names and identifying details have been changed.