My sister's best-ever friend, Karen, has become a best mate of mine, too. My own best-ever friend, Emma, met Karen first when she had a Saturday job in Saxone, Knightsbridge, over 25 years ago. Then Vicki – my sister, keep up! – started work at Way In in Harrods and she and Karen became friends. Em went off to uni and Karen, Vicki and I became a threesome of ferocious party animals, spending Friday and Saturday nights together, pubbing and clubbing for all we were worth.

I loved that time. It was all Spandau Ballet and Madness; The Hope & Anchor in Islington's Upper Street for the live bands and the Beatroute in Soho's Greek Street for a very hip and happening club night to start the weekend. Wherever we went, snakebites were the order of the day – and probably love bites too, truth be told.

One hideously blurry night when we were running very late – Vicki always took an age to do her make-up while Karen waited patiently on the southbound platform of the Victoria line at Highbury & Islington – we moaned to the landlady in the pre-club pub that this was only our first drink and everyone else was way ahead of us. She suggested a pint of snakebite with a sherry floating on the top. Not very responsible landlady advice but it sure did the trick!

One by one, through our drunken fugs – I'm sorry Mum – we found what we always imagined would be an elusive dream, the man who mattered. Admittedly the 'right one' was after a couple of dodgy false starts, but isn't that the same with everything in life?

Parting of ways

Vicki and I went on to have children but Karen and her husband Mel put all that to one side and kept the party alive. She and Mel have holidays and weekends away at the drop of a hat. They both support Chelsea and will book a hotel in Covent Garden the night before a match, travel down from their home in Hertfordshire and have a night on the town before watching Mourinho's boys in blue.

Mel loves to surf and they regularly travel down to Woolacombe in Devon so Mel can indulge his passion while Karen reads and lounges and then indulges hers – the apres surf. It's an easy, fun drinking scene revolving round Woolie's Red Barn. I know, because this time last year Karen and I went there.

Getting away together

We decided a girly weekend away was necessary for our very souls. Vicki couldn't make it so Karen and I had to eat, drink, sleep and laugh without her, which we did in spades, especially the laughing bit – at ourselves and each other. Of course, we didn't surf but hung out with the surfers at the Red Barn nonetheless. We chatted and giggled and strolled along the bay arm in arm in the moonlight. We didn't put the world to rights but by spending precious time together we put our own worlds to rights. I think the Government with its predilection towards nanny-state-itis should declare Girly Weekends away an annual necessity – and give everyone the right to have a friend like Karen…

Cambridge here we come

This year Vicki can make it and we think we're going to Cambridge – we'll miss the surfers but it's a bit of a trek just to hang out with some bleached – or should that be beached – blond dudes. Besides, we'll have each other so the rest is just detail. Likewise I don't know what Cambridge has to offer by way of sites and attractions, but I don't really care. I'm sure they've got somewhere we can eat, drink and sleep and we'll bring our own laughter. In fact, I'm already in training for the laughter-induced bellyache, which I expect to last for days.

We'll find a restaurant and a pub we like, and after something hugely carborific (you've got to line your stomach) in the former, we'll stroll along to the latter and will down a few snakebites for old times sake – without the sherry floater, of course (we're responsible drinkers these days).

Vic and I will come up for air between bouts of laughter and wonder at our great mate Karen. She's like a breath of fresh air, a bombastic, fantastic friend who is loving and loyal and retains that party animal spirit that deserted Vicki and I the moment we became pregnant – although I have to say, it always manages to return at moments like these.

Cambridge, you have been warned!

Read more of Liz's columns:

Resolution revolution

Saving energy: Mum goes green

Lazy mum's dinner party

Battle of the bulge

The price of beauty

Getting a pet: the drama begins

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