THE 17-year-old had just finished his A-levels and wanted to celebrate. He and his friend got a cheap hotel and even cheaper flights for a short break in Barcelona.

I never had the chance to jet off like this at Charlie’s age. “What a fantastic thing to do when you’re 17,” I thought, having been to Barcelona myself a few years ago. “He’ll love it.

It’ll be a wonderful experience.”

But, as the day of departure loomed nearer, Charlie’s dad and I started to worry, which is hardly surprising, considering we were about to let our child, even if he is a strapping 6ft 2in and practically an adult, out into the wider world on his own for the first time.

At first, it was just little, obvious things, like ensuring he looked after valuables. “Keep your passport and most of your money in the hotel safe, don’t carry it on you,” his dad warned him.

Then we started to hear stories from people who had been to Barcelona and warned of tourists being hassled by youths who tried to pull their trousers down in a jokey, larky manner to create a distraction, then stole their money.

This may be an urban myth, but we weren’t taking any chances.

“Keep your money under your foot, in your shoe when you go out,” said his dad. “And don’t let anyone fiddle with your trousers,” I added.

Then we heard another tale, about someone’s brother’s friend who had his nose sliced off in a fight in the popular Las Ramblas area, a lively street full of restaurants and bars, which attracts lots of tourists.

“The problem is, Charlie,” I said, “you and Jordan will stand out as being young, naiive innocents abroad. You have to be careful who you talk to and what you say. Don’t engage with anyone in the street who appears drunk or under the influence of drugs if they approach you. Their behaviour could be unpredictable.

“But watch out for people who appear particularly charming and friendly too, because they could be con artists. There are unscrupulous people out there who might try to take advantage of you.”

His dad joined in: “And don’t go anywhere near those dark alleyways that run along the sides of the main Las Ramblas area, because they’re full of drug dealers and prostitutes.”

Charlie had been looking forward to a short break in one of the most attractive, friendliest cities in Europe.

But we were beginning to make it sound like he was about to endure a nerve-wrecking ordeal in a godforsaken hellhole.

Charlie, of course, didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to what we were saying and instead gleaned all the information he wanted from his guidebook.

“There’s a fantastic beach there.

I’m really looking forward to swimming in the sea,” he told me one day.

Why is it I can’t respond to a statement like this with a: “That’ll be lovely, you’ll really enjoy it,” as I would to a friend? No, my first thought was: “He might drown”.

“Remember, Charlie, large bodies of water and alcohol should never be mixed,” I warned him.

By the time the day he was leaving came, I was a nervous wreck: “Why can’t he just stay in his hotel room and watch TV for a few days?

He’d enjoy that. He could get room service,” I suggested to his dad.

CHARLIE returned four days later, having had a brilliant time. He met lots of people, went out every night and stayed up very late. He and Jordan hired bikes, swam in the sea every day and returned with some money left over and their passports intact.

“It was brilliant, Mum,” said Charlie who, it emerged, got bad sunburn on his back. I was so busy worrying about pickpockets, drug addicts and prostitutes, I had forgotten to remind him to wear suncream.

THE reason Charlie and Jordan got cheap flights is that my generous husband offered them use of his air miles points. “I’m not interested in using them because there are so many restrictions. You have to take flights at odd hours, when you wouldn’t really want to be travelling.” It obviously hadn’t occurred to him that it was he who would have to drive Charlie and Jordan to Newcastle Airport in the early hours to catch the flight which it was so inconvenient for him to take.