I do not often get invited for lunch in Paris (NEVER), and it is less often that the person inviting me to a little rendezvous is one of my oldest friends, who I have not lived in the same country as for TEN years.
Then imagine another friend, who grew up with said friend, but has lived in an entirely different country to both of us for the last SIX years, was now by some miracle moving back to England.
Not only that, but she was also available to hop on a train with me across the Channel, for what was sure to be the most emotional reunion the city had seen since Carrie & Mr Big.
It actually happened.
The last time we were all in the same room together, was in our little flat in Blackheath circa 2002. We met in Sydney, where they are both from and where I spent a year following my mid-twenties crisis.
When it was time for me to return to the UK, they came along too and we rented a place together.
We liked to drink wine on our balcony and eat Ben & Jerry’s out of the tub.
We watched a lot of American TV shows on the sofa with a blanket draped across us.
I had yellow hair.
Only one of us could cook.
We threw around 17 housewarming parties.
We all wore the same khaki jacket from Primark.
They introduced me to accessories.
I introduced them to Eastenders.
We loved a McFlurry.
We had fantasy celebrity husbands (Eminem, Robbie & one of Westlife) and we sometimes shared Brad, George, or whoever was the lead in whatever movie we were watching at the time.
It was the best of times.
Unfortunately, leases soon came up and visas expired, so our time together, as a trio at least, sadly came to an end.
We did not intend for 10 years to pass between us before all getting together again.
Life, work and eventually love, all got in the way of our plans to meet up for fabulous exotic holidays every year.
We met our real husbands and started families. We set up homes in London, Sydney and Doha.
Facebook made it easier to still feel connected to each other’s lives. Over Skype, we could share a meal. A cup of tea. A glass of wine.
Then in the space of a week, we realised that for the first time in 10-years, we would all be on the same continent for a window of only 48-hours.
Paris seemed the easiest place for us to all get to.
So, we met in Paris. For lunch.
It seems like such a frivolous thing to do, but as I skipped along Boulevard Saint-Germain with these two gorgeous women and laughed like it was 2002, I felt 10-years just fall away.
Which considering I was about to turn 40 just a couple of days later, could only ever be a good thing.