When I text the girls back home, raving about my first Nathan Carter gig, the first response was: “Nathan Carter? You’re a real farmer’s wife now.” Not true in a literal sense, of course, but there was no mistaking her sentiment: by embracing country music – the unofficial soundtrack to life in rural Ireland – I had completed a transition of sorts.

“I can just see you there now in the farmhouse kitchen,” said one friend, “with your Cath Kidston apron.”