Dawn Llewelly Price enjoys a reunion with the girls.
LAST week, while Virgoman painted the villa, making tea for the Spanish workmen hauled in to erect a roof over the terrace so we have somewhere to sit outside when it rains, I legged it down to Puerto Banus a four hour drive away.
(Not my fault the builder could only start on what was the week my four friends Up North had booked an apartment on the Costa del Crime with instructions to join them.)
A four-hour drive down found me hugging all my gals — best friend, god-daughter and her two grannies, also friends, representing age decades of the 20s, 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s.
Every night the 20s and 40s led the way with cooking while the remainder made cocktails, then 78-year-old Hilda would "shiggle" us up by requesting we get ready to go out by 11pm and would then appear in gold or a classy leopard print and lead the charge into the 11 euro-a-drink melee which is the nightlife of Marbella's famous playground.
They breed 'em tough in the North of England. We danced where Eva Longoria and Tiny Tempah had danced only weeks before, made the drinks last, and strolled past yachts and Maseratis, dodging occasional rain and millionaires.
I finally met up with Merie, a Facebook friend living in the area, who was just as lovely and delightful in the flesh as she is online.
We even managed Gibraltar for a day, a short drive away, visiting the Rock for the first time in years, strolling around Marks & Spencer and topping up with bargain perfume, adding to the chaos at border control.
The only road sign for Gibraltar is the one at the actual motorway exit leading to it.
A distinct case of Spanish jealousy?