Women are the losers when men are told off for being chivalrous

If there were a support group for people with Directional Disorientation Disorder, I would sign up. I can’t read a map for toffee and, even when I use my iPhone’s maps, I invariably stride confidently away from my desired destination.

My preferred solution to this everyday crisis is to stop a savvy-looking bloke and ask him for help. Yes, I know this is at odds with decades of feminist crusading, but the cruel truth is I don’t trust my own sex on this crucial issue.

Every year I go walking with an all-female bunch of old school friends – all of whom scored Duke of Edinburgh awards in the 1980s – and every year we all fight not to be the designated map reader. Especially after last year’s mishap outside Battle (on the 1066 walk), when landmarks started looking spookily familiar and we realised we’d retraced three miles of our previous day’s hike – thanks to our reluctant team leader, a high-flying banker.

But apparently, I must be rescued from my retrogressive tendencies. Dr Richard Tiplady, a seasoned hiker of the UK’s highest peaks, has written that men mustn’t patronise women walkers by offering advice on their route: “Yes, they can probably read a map, thanks.”

He also said blokes must stop addressing women as “darling” or “sweetheart” and that the “dominance of white middle-aged men like me in Scotland’s hills is obvious and it is unacceptable”.

Quite apart from the fact it may prove inadvisable to speak on behalf of outdoorsy women when your surname suggests you enjoy upending them from a steep ledge, I’d argue it’s a highly acceptable practice to boot your menfolk outdoors in all weathers, armed only with an Ordnance Survey Map to muster ingenuity and walk off their energy. And if they happen to come across a group of women, keen for a little advice, so be it.

I once had a boyfriend who was something of a pro hiker, always saying things like, “the path hasn’t run out, it’s been washed away, see that cairn over there [points to infinitesimally tiny pile of stones on distant horizon], it marks the way!” In fact, the chief reason for his existence on this planet seemed to be a mission to share that kind of observation with less-seasoned mountaineers.

I’d swear he loitered a bit on Scafell Pike so that he could help Lycra-clad US women tourists – with their baseball caps and neon walking sticks – choose the most appropriate route. I should add that the impulse was pure-hearted and he was a very well-mannered man – trained by his mother to help stricken women change tyres, evade spiders and to rescue dogs swept down-river by strong currents. So, I never saw any woman tick him off for aiding and abetting the patriarchy. And the many brilliant women mountaineers out there perform the same service for stricken men.

I am sure Dr Tiplady is right, that there are genuine “horror stories” involving insensitive males of a certain age who loiter around lone women walkers in a “weird” way that makes them feel uncomfortable. That can even happen in the yoghurt aisle of Sainsbury’s, so nowhere is safe.

But I’m not sure I’d be able to carry on hiking if all the well-equipped, chivalrous males, with their compasses, Swiss army knives and spare blister bandages stopped assisting slapdash, directionally-challenged, occasional mountain goats like me.

Most years of our “women’s” hike, we end up with the banker’s husband appearing in the final hours to ensure one day’s smooth trajectory. Afterwards, we fall at his feet with gratitude. When your smartphone signal disappears, Scottish mist descends and all hope disappears, you pray for a Tiplady to defy his name and to gallantly prevent you from falling into the abyss.