There is always a melancholy feeling that hits as the end of any long-anticipated holiday nears. Historically, I’ve always been able to get a grip at the airport. Sad that it’s over, but ready and excited to return home.

Not this time. This time I cried twice before even boarding my flight. It was the end of a girls’ trip. And not just the usual weekend away, but a full, glorious week overseas.

When a girlfriend living in London announced she was getting married, her nearest and dearest old flock of birds from Sydney were on the next flight. Jobs, husbands and babies were left to fend for themselves (metaphorically where the babies were concerned), and my gang of school girlfriends quickly assembled, with 20 years of history, no responsibilities, and the lukewarm middle-of-summer-English sun beckoning.

Even when we weren’t drunk (rarely!), we felt drunk. It was the relentless nature of the unbroken, day-after-day contact, the return of immature silliness to every conversation and scenario – nothing like our normal lives of adulthood – that proved to be a tonic for a world full of overloaded plates spread thin.

Each day, as the sun rose, the group chat would kick off as we looked down the barrel of another empty day, free to fill with whatever we felt like. Most of the time, we picked a pub and chatted non-stop, aiming to take it in turns talking, but invariably shouting over the top of each other. At one point, my friend’s smartwatch alerted her that the audio levels in her vicinity were no longer safe, and recommended she vacate the area. Thankfully, she did not.

Loading

It’s one thing to regress with your family at Christmastime. But regressing with your old school friends is pure, unadulterated joy. During our great week-long adventure, we dressed up in costumes, choreographed dance routines and chanted in public. It all sounds so … obnoxious. And it was! Yet when people saw a group of women in their 30s dancing down the street in London, no one rolled their eyes and told us to grow up. Instead, they looked on with a knowing smile, happy for our happiness. When one gentleman commented that we were “like the Spice Girls”, you can imagine the reception.

It was on day three that I remembered why I loved school so much. It wasn’t the education; it was that it quite often felt like being high. Given numerous studies have shown non-stop laughter can have the same impact as painkillers and illicit drugs, in retrospect, it’s not surprising.

Like all friendships, these are far from perfect, but they are enduring. Twenty years of history creates a sturdy foundation. We have had ebbs and flows throughout the years, but there is nothing as powerful as a link that lasts throughout the chapters, based entirely on familiarity and connection, and not convenience.