Welsh Rare Break

The moment I stepped through the wide glass doors I knew I'd come home. There was an initial shyness, a slight awkwardness on my part, unable to look my old friends squarely in the eye, knowing it was me that had forced the separation. I needn't have worried for I was soon swept in as if I'd never been away. There was no cool reception, no accusative looks, no chastisement just the warm, genuine greeting of an old friend who is happy to see you no matter how long it has been or whose turn it was to call last. I'd made my peace with the department store.

I wasted no time, quickly moving around the shiny counters, anxious not to overlook anything but frequently distracted by the sight of a Bonus Gift or New Arrival. I searched but Guerlain wasn't there. I'd planned on telling her Carmentza had scent me. I was overwhelmed at first, unable to hold a conversation beyond the initial pleasantries but once I'd settled down I started to answer more confidently, " I'll be paying by Debit Card, there's no need to gift wrap".

I didn't go mad, tempted as I was by the Armani sunglasses, the Cherry Chau hair accessories and the Mulberry handbags. A modest purchase from Molton Brown ( Jack uses it too and it lasts for ages so it's not really extravagant), a make-up top-up from Clinique, which came with an 8 piece free gift - a girl can never have too many bags, even if they are only wash or make-up ones, rounded off with some new lingerie. Lingerie sounds better than Sports Bra. I went for the premium teflon-coated anti-bounce range designed for better performance. It cost so much I can only imagine it was built with aeronautical technology. Reports in the Evening Telegraph of dual-nosed Concorde phantom planes are sure to follow my next training sessions.

We caught the Willard Wigan exhibition while we waited for our cheesecake and lattes to arrive and then stocked up with fresh anchovies, salad and the final word in decadence, a 12 quid loaf of bread, or at least a quarter of a loaf of Poilane.

Sunday dawned bright, the stillness broken only by the rhythmic lapping of the waves in the bay and the excited calls of the many birds feeding on the exposed kelp-strewn rocks. I bounded out of bed. A most uncommon occurrence and one which really would have benefitted by an advance wearing of my new foundation garments. I was back with fresh milk and the papers 20 minutes later and after a leisurely breakfast we headed out to walk along the vast wind-swept beaches, admire the magnificent views, of neoprene-clad kite-surfers performing acrobatics atop the breaking waves.

24 hours away with a girlfriend had a far more beneficial effect than the sum of its parts. We talked about everything and nothing. She gave me a bit of a pep talk about not putting myself down so much but soon moved on to preferable topics, like her forthcoming wedding and the growth of her property empire and the fact that she won't tolerate disrespectful behaviour or flirtation of any degree from her boyfriend, something she learnt the hard way in the past and then we passed the slow journey back to Halifax by singing along to the radio. A roast dinner was waiting for us at the other end rustled up on cue by her perfect partner.

It's the third time I've been away with them in less than a year, although the first time for just Loll and I. We may well do it again in November and more than likely at New Year. Is it a coincidence that out of all their combined friends I am the only one to have been invited once, let alone on further occasions? Or am I just the most unattractive and least threatening of the lot?