I am clearly the mature one in our friendship. The fact that I was born two weeks before my best friend means I have always been able to claim age and wisdom over her.
However as age creeps us on us and is no longer something to aspire to, she revels that for one more week she is a year younger than me and I am simply “older.”
We met within days of her birth, our friendship sealed within seconds. Our toddler days littered with playdates, our primary school years spent horse riding and giggling in bedrooms. Our pre school recommended we be sent to different primary schools as our mischievousness became renown. It was the time we both sat on the toilet to have a wee together that simply pushed our teacher over the edge.
We were only three at the time.
Still, apparently it was not the ‘correct’ behaviour.
But whilst we went to separate schools, lived in different towns, went to Universities at opposite ends of the country our friendship has only grown, and the mischievousness remains.
She has been there for me through everything, once I let her down when life mistreated her and I wasn’t there. I have spent the rest of my time trying to make that up to her.
We have cried over boys together, learnt how to be strong women together, shared clothes, and on occasion shoes. We do an amazing rendition of Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson’s ‘We know him so well’ from Chess. Why we have not been snapped up to a record label is beyond us both.
We can recite all of Grease together in perfect harmony.
She knows my every secret, I can’t lie to her, why would I ever want to.
We never have a bad night together, and yesterday proved to be no exception to the rule.
The Cavendish hotel in St James, London, provided the perfect setting for our birthday weekend away. The hotel simply breathes decadence, the staff ensure you feel looked after, and our penthouse suite was simply dazzling.
It was all too tempting to just climb into our robes, order food to the room and collapse into a double bed each and simply stare at the beautiful view that rested outside our window.
But, as we don’t get out much, we forced on our dancing shoes and set off into the night.
Ok – we made it as far as the hotel bar, where we took it upon ourselves to sample the range of cocktails on offer whilst catching up on tales of life, our loves and our children.
I smiled so much my jaws ached, and laughed until my abs protested.
The night passed by far too quickly, we drank too much, danced too little. We had an absolute ball in a cheesy little club in Piccadilly.
We didn’t get home till 4am…
We walked along the silent streets of Mayfair, shoes in hand with a slight stagger in our step. Luckily for London we didn’t sing our Elaine and Barbara duo.
The Cavendish was waiting for us like an anxious parent, keen to usher us in and tuck us into bed. Room service had been in and turned down our sheets, the bed felt like feathers under my suddenly weary thirty seven year old self.
We fell asleep in seconds with the words, “great night, I love you” still lingering on our lips.
Morning came and burst into our room with a vividness that pierced through the cobwebs in my mind. The beauty of the view across London from the 15th floor was enough to banish any headache. The perfectly cooked breakfast, fruit, cereals and endless teas ensured any hangover was kept at bay.
You simply can’t have that much fun and feel rotten the day after.
Nor can you stay somewhere as exquisitely elegant as the Cavendish and not appreciate every second.
Sunday was spent looking at poppies, walking in parks, drinking bucks fizz.
The company made it perfect. 37 years of knowing each other and we still fall back into being giggly teens within seconds of being together.
A fantastic weekend with my beautiful friend.
Thanks to the Cavendish Hotel for spoiling us rotten this weekend, full details of rooms, prices, afternoon teas can be found on their website: http://www.thecavendish-london.co.uk/