It wasn't that smutty

"Well it wasn't that smutty," says PB.

You know those moments when you start off a conversation in your head, and - after a while - you finish it out loud? When it makes sense to you and you only? Well that was one of those moments.

We were on our way to the beach in Malaga with Two Shandies, who was now doubled up in laughter at PB's non-sensicle comment.

I hadn't heard her properly. "What wasn't slutty?"

Now PB was doubled up in laughter.

It was a while before she regained her composure enough to answer me. "I said it wasn't that smutty. The hen weekend. I thought it was supposed to be all talk of sex and penises and stuff like that," she says.

I forget this is PBs first experience of a hen weekend. My second. I guess the stereotype of strippers and the bride being made to do something rude with whipped cream just doesn't ring true. Thank god.

There were no L plates or fairy wings, though there was a stripper of sorts. Well, some dodgy guy who offered to strip when he found out there was a hen party in the bar. Thankfully he only got as far as his shirt. Though he did take the poor bride in his arms and carry her to the upstairs part of the bar.

"But there was plenty of talk about sex," I say. "Although it all came from Two Shandies."

Shandies is seeing a new bloke, who looks just like Kevin Spacey. She's not that sure about him, but has at least got some brilliant stories to tell.

Which she did, on the Friday night, when we had arrived, and were having dinner with the majority of the other hens in a lovely restaurant called Rucula.

The bride, Jess, heard us cackling with laughter from where she was sitting, at the other end of the table. it's a wonderful thing, Shandies' laugh. Hearing it just sets you off yourself. It's impossible to resist.

Jess came over, to investigate, her flashing pink penis earrings swaying as she went.

It would have been rude not to compliment her on such wonderful accessories.

"Yes, i've got cocks in my ears," she said.

Two Shandies interrupted her: "Well, I had a cock in my mouth the other day…."

(Cue more shrieking laughter).

And something happened to me that has never happened before. He turned to me and said…

(We were all on the edge of our seats)

"Do you want to take a picture?"

How strange. She hadn't really known how to respond to that. So when he saw her looking puzzled he thought he would clarify things.

"I don't mean of my face," he explained.

The other great gem he came out with was telling her: "You look really beautiful from behind.

Shandies said she fell on the floor and almost split her sides laughing. "He might as well have told me I look great with a paper bag on my head," she said.

I'm sure he didn't mean it like that… But it does make for one hell of a story.

We re-lived all of that as we made our way down to Malaga's grayish beach. Not the prettiest thing in the world, but it had sand at least. And today, it had sun. We'd been blessed with freakishly warm weather all weekend.

"Spot the Brits on holiday," said PB as we walked past a group of pasty white lads and their suitcases, laid out on the bare sand, trying to roast themselves silly. "Bet they turn a nice shade of pink.

But we were Brits on holiday technically, though we liked to think that no-one would guess it as easily.

On Jess' recommendation we hit the third chiringito restaurant thingy on the beach and tried the local specialty - aspecto de sardines. Afterwards we moved down the beach to sniff out some rebujitos - another local speciality. Something like a white wine sangria - vino de mazanilla con sprite. Delicious. I had two.

Somewhere along the line the conversation took a sinister turn - when Shandies and PB would return to England. Sometimes I take it for granted that they'll just be here forever, and it scares me to think they won't. For me, I don't have to worry about if I'm doing the right thing staying here. I forget that it might not be a case of forever for everyone.

but I looked at my friends sipping their rebujitos in the sunlight and there was this sense that this was one of those magic snapshots in time. One of those epic moments that would come back - like a dream - at the strangest moments of the day. As familiar as the first sun of summer warming your face.

They won't be going home any time soon, I thought.

Then I had a nice long sip of my drink.