DAUGHTER: “Hey Mum, I’m going travelling around Bolivia for three weeks with a friend.”

Me: “Isn’t that the place where bandits raid the buses?”

Daughter: “Don’t worry, that’s only at night, we won’t get on those buses. Besides, I speak Spanish.”

So went the conversation with my 22-year-old daughter prior to departure.

How the ability to speak Spanish in the event of a bandit raid would help her, I’m not sure. Call me naive, but I don’t think, “Disarm me Senor Bandido, por favor”, would work, but what do I know about Bolivia? Maybe these legendary outlaws are chivalrous towards young English girls who speak the lingo.

So I typed “How dangerous is Bolivia?” into Google. Straight off there was a piece written in very poor English warning women travelling alone to beware of getting on buses for fear of kidnap.

Then there was a warning about fake policemen in old uniforms who stop people in the street, search them and check their passports. Apparently, there are also illegal taxis, bad drivers and poor roads. Then there are the street thieves who lift your wallet in the blink of an eye. I must point out that none of these claims were substantiated – as in none of the writers had actually fallen victim to any of these crimes. .

In the mines of Potosi –which my daughter and her friend plan to visit - there’s a warning about once you go through the narrow, dusty tunnels, there’s no going back. So if you suffer with claustrophobia, it could be a problem. Who’d have thought?

And to cap it all, the place is overrun with dogs, some of which aren’t friendly. Now, for me that was an issue as my daughter loves dogs. In fact, she’s a bit of a canine botherer on the quiet. Our Labrador never has a moment’s peace without her being stroked, petted or spooned. And she’s constantly harassing dog walkers in our local park by insisting on cuddling their pets.

So kidnapping is the least of my worries. In fact, I’d fear for any would-be bandido who dared to cross my daughter. She’s a demon when she’s vexed.

I am, however, concerned that she may decide to stay and open a doggy daycare or message me to pick up a crate from Manchester Airport filled with a pack of emaciated, flea-bitten strays.

Mad dogs and Englishmen? Mad dogs and mad Englishwomen are a far riskier combination.