One of London’s fashionable restaurants, any day of the week; four married men sit at a corner table ogling waitresses and washing down food with the most expensive wines. If they do not seem in a hurry to get back to the office, that’s because they are not.

These men used to hold high-powered jobs that brought them to these same restaurants to entertain clients. But there was no point in working any more — because their wives earned more than enough to support them.

Now they have lunch with each other, daydreaming like children about new lives as inventors, explorers and sportsmen. Unlike children, though, they have the means to make some of those dreams come true. This group recently went truffle-hunting in Italy. Another time they went heli-skiing. Not content with merely going to the gym, they became triathletes.

Whatever else the great feminist pioneers intended, you can be sure that it was not this. But for an increasing number of women — the ones who have benefited most from social reform, with the most lucrative and powerful jobs — this more or less describes the life of a modern husband.

You have heard of the ladies who lunch. Now there are the lads who lunch.

The advent of this seemingly blessed type can partly be explained by the modern economy. Job security is a thing of the past and layoffs happen all the time.

Additionally, with more women getting degrees, including MBAs and doctorates, the number of households in which the woman earns more than the man has increased dramatically. Most households need both incomes. But not if the wife is a seriously high earner. In those households, when the husband gets the chance to drop out he grabs it.

“My wife wasn’t wealthy when we married,” said James Millett, formerly in publishing. “She was penniless. But there came a time when there was no way I could compare my income with hers.”

His wife works for an investment bank. Her annual bonus alone eclipsed his salary. So he resigned.

“And here I am,” he said, “wandering around my estate surrounded by servants, living the life of a new rural squire. Forget the 35-hour week, I’m on a 35-hour year.”

Others have made similar moves. There is the civil servant from the Foreign Office, whose wife brings home more than £1m a year as partner in an international law firm: he gave up work to listen to Deep Purple records and play cricket.

Or there is the financial analyst, also married to a lawyer, who set up as a day trader after he was made redundant and refused to look after the children. not even in emergencies. Or there is the broker, married to an heiress, who packed it in to live in tax exile.

Or there is the man whose wife is a headhunter, who did nothing for weeks except to lunch and play golf — until he found idleness itself was burdensome. “You need status,” he explained. “At dinner parties you need an answer to the question, ‘What do you do?’ ” His solution was to trade wine. He earns about £25,000, which barely pays for the childcare and his season ticket on the train. He goes home and does not have to think about work. He can sit and watch television and have a drink. His wife, by contrast, continues to work at home in the evenings and at weekends.

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