Write Priorities

So, I have just returned from the sports injury specialist, who has given me a smack for drunken diva dancing on the weekend when the ankle is STILL supposed to be being rested due to torn ligaments some 13 weeks ago. I didn't tell her I'd also been doing slides on the shiny wooden floor in my socks, going for walks or spa wrestling. That would be just giving away too much. And really, it's not all that relevant, is it?

What would bring me to do such things you might ask? Well the presence of three sisters, all much naughtier than I, I'm sure, not to mention a thrill-seeking auntie and my mum! It's actually quite hard for me to make the break and get away with the girlies in the family once a year - sounds ridiculous, but I have to miss out on my weekend netball and this year it was also the mid-year ball in our small town. But get away I do, because the girls are so important to me, and so is letting the hair down. Which we did, in spades.

It began on Friday afternoon. I was the last to get there, and when I arrived they were all very civilised drinking champagne tinted pink with hibiscus flowers and chatting. After a glass of wine to catch up it was time to break into the red-silk sheath that I had been hanging out to wear since I bought it in Vietnam in 1997 and then promptly grew out of. I squeezed into it, although it was "slightly" tight around the neck and the thighs, and I had to hoik it up uncouthly in order to sit, so it only lasted about 20 minutes. Then it was bathers on and all of us into the spa - with Cosmopolitans, a morish mix of Cointreau, vodka, cranberry and lime juice. Slurp, slurp.

Well dinner was supposed to be a multi-course Asian feast - rice paper rolls, soba noodles, Laotian pork salad, Rogan josh, a Thai pumpkin and coconut custard, and something else which I can't quite remember. But it wound up being a few sodden (but delicious, thankyou Mum) rice paper rolls eaten in the spa after a fair few more Cosmopolitans and a couple of hours of spa wrestling, diving practice, bombs and raucous laughter. By the time we emerged, skin as wrinkly as a centenarian, a few had tumbled into bed, but the stayers got the music on and bedazzled the buggery out of the living room dancefloor!

Next day the injuries came to light - a fairly good sized bruise on one's bum, a bloody toe, a sore throat from screeching laughter - and there were a few sore heads and queasy tummies. And the rest of the weekend was, shall we say, a tad quieter. There were the communal cups of tea; massages, foot rubs, hair treatments and facials; late, long breakfasts; strolls in the sunshine; amazing food; and superb company where no subject was taboo and everyone gave as well as received.

A little bit of naughty, a lot of nice - the perfect weekend.