10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1… I’m into the last few days. After travelling up to Cannock with a wooden ape, I got on a train to Oxenholme the Lake District, where, from all parts of the UK, by plane, train and car, nine other girls would convene for a weekend to mark our collective 30ths.
Some of us were students together, some of us have become friends since, but we’re aware that our friendships with each other are remarkable for their depth and longevity and number.
We’re staying at Summerhill and everything here is set to make us feel special, from the chocolates by our beds to the lovely breakfast, to the scorching sunshine that gave us sunburn across our noses as we walked round Loughrigg past the tarn to Grasmere.
Some of the girls are already 30. Some have been through 30 and survived to tell the tale. Some are only just 29. But the timing of this weekend was the perfect way to begin my final countdown.