By an unfortunate quirk of fate, Caitlin Moran’s gig was on World Cup final night meaning her audience was, one suspected, even more female than usual.

Which was a shame because it meant she was preaching to the converted when she could be opening the eyes of the uninitiated into why we still have a long, long way to go before equality.

Moran’s great skill is metaphors revealing the commonplace to be hilariously absurd, memorably comparing the reality of all female pop stars being scantily dressed and singing about sex to all male singers dressing as farmers and singing exclusively about farming.

Sunday night never felt like a lecture or a product placement for her book because she could always lighten the moment.

And she avoided the pitfall of being a smug Guardianista because she was always ready to be self-deprecating, comparing her young self to Chewbacca or twisting up her belly fat into a pair of lips.

Fans wondering whether her new book could match the thrill of How To Be A Woman were able to stand easy.

An extract about a sexual encounter with a well-endowed man was side-splitting and is sure to have thousands of commuters desperately stifling howls and snorts of laughter in crowded train carriages.

Can she lead her promised revolution?

Well there were at least 1,000 acolytes ready to follow on Sunday’s evidence, but it might take time for the chauvinists to turn away from their football and catch up.