I can’t imagine if I’d be able to fathom the prospect that over 40 years after our first meeting in Essex we’d fly out to Spain for a few days of sightseeing, beer and tapas.

We’d started as ambitious yet unproven young men with no track record other than a belief that we could rise up corporate ladders. Whilst this was in the background our main pre-occupation was misplaced vanity, enjoying a good time especially if it involved the company of the opposite sex, live music, beer, playing practical jokes on each other and avoiding the washing up in shared accommodation.

From this revelry to today we’d conquer serious illness, get elected to Parliament, ride a bike solo across America, and quietly assume a senior financial position looking over major acquisitions of international brands. 

Neil, I first met in 1974. Early recollections are listening to his Joni Mitchell Court & Spark cassette in my Triumph Herald as we negotiated the Manchester traffic on our way to lectures on Aytoun Street at Manchester Polytechnic. On arrival I’d scour the pavements for ring pulls. There were plenty and I’d push these into a parking meter to obtain parking for the day. Neil and I were put together by the college in digs in Heaton Moor.

Here we completed our respective degrees before Neil pursued accountancy and I started a career in purchasing. Both our jobs took us south and here we again shared accommodation in Basildon. From here I eventually went north to start a master’s degree and Neil continued, to this day, in corporate finance. My re-appearance in his life probably had a 30 year gap despite being his Best Man at his wedding to Ruth. Today they’re nicely established and partially retired in North London where Neil’s also plugging his EV into a lamppost and saving the planet.

Tim probably appeared in my life in 1979, along with Paul, sharing a house in Billericay (to which I eventually escaped to my own house in Basildon.) Tim also worked at the Ford Motor Company albeit at another plant. Tim’s continuing passions then and now were Wishbone Ash and the Conservative Party. On both counts I was dragged in, as I too liked Andy Powell (one of the two twin lead guitars) and Maggie Thatcher. Tim’s fledgling Tory career was already underway with energetic involvement in various embodiments of the party. By the 1980s he found his way into Parliament to represent a constituency east of London. Before retirement a life in recruitment was his occupation. West London is now his domicile where the Daily Telegraph is his constant companion along with an unhealthy love for Liverpool FC.

Paul also worked for Ford and luxuriated in being a very authentic Yorkshireman. I think ‘no nonsense and blunt’ is a fitting soubriquet. From an engineering start Paul wasn’t likely to stand still and found his way into sales where he spent his working life travelling the world and being sat in front of senior global players selling ‘solutions’. Yes, whatever that may be! Paul found a bride, Jacquie, and now has four children who he’s enormously proud of and whose age range means he’s still ferrying them from Berkshire up motorways to university or visiting them in their careers in West Australia.

So after some negotiation at the beginning of the year we elected to move away from the occasional London lunch to Andalusia. We found our own way there and regrouped early in the evening for the first of three delightful dinners. The newly created WhatsApp group (‘The Essex Four’) buzzed happily with updates on travel progress and arrivals.

Conversation at the dinner table rotated around politics (and Tim’s unwavering assertion that he was right and we were wrong), what we’d do as regards sightseeing and who’s round it was. Anna and Katrina did, thankfully, dilute the political content with their later arrival. There had always been a plan for them to fly in. First to stay with other friends along the coast and then for us join up to get the train to Seville. With flights booked they ended up at a loose end when our other friends couldn’t be in Spain at this time.

Sightseeing involved an enormous climb to the Gibralfaro fort where Tim had to bail out toward the top due to feeling frail after a late night drinking at a jazz club. He did show the spirit of 1980 by keeping from his bed past 1 am. We’d abandoned him at the club claiming weariness and I, personally, was still disappointed after a heavy drubbing at table football.

Tim never contemplated a bike tour due to the possible perception of showing solidarity with a Green agenda by the absence of fossil fuels in our tour of the town. Paul kept him company in the old city and in effect took ‘one for the team‘ by visiting the Picasso Museum. The artist was born in the city. On other cultural exploration Tim opined that all cathedrals ‘were the same’ and side stepped a visit to the architecturally magnificent Catedral de la Encarnación Málaga. Sadly he was correct and I soon stopped listening to the audio guide as we worked our way through numerous saints and endless chapels. However, it is an impressive building.

Evening catering was delegated to Tim and he recommended two of the three night’s venues. It soon became apparent that his communication skills with serving staff merited this leadership rôle. Carmen, a pretty young waitress at our first pre-dinner drink stop, was referred to as ‘a sweet girl’ and at our last restaurant the waiter was brought to heel by ‘my dear boy’.

Ungenerously he did criticise Paul’s choice of restaurant despite its Tripadvisor near 5 star rating: well earned not least for a magnificent, beautifully lit, view of the cathedral. Tapas was our main pursuit and given the cost of €31 each, with a tip, then we either didn’t eat enough or drink enough! On the latter then the local white wine had a thorough examination suggesting we neglected the food.

Conversations reminisced between Paul’s famous stream of visitors to our house from South Yorkshire (attractive women, steel workers and the like) and one famous prank where at 3am we crept along to outside a bedroom with a sailing boat foghorn klaxon to awaken Tim who unsurprisingly came to imagining World War 3 was underway. Paul warming to the cultural aspect of Malaga talked about Bath and Seville in some detail thus bewildering Tim who introduced Graeme Souness (Liverpool FC player and ex-manager) into the conversation as his name approximated to Sulis, the local goddess of the thermal springs that still feed the spa baths at Bath. Obviously the alcohol helped this nonsense.

In all these stories there was a hint of sadness as another housemate, Jason, had passed away in 2017 at the young age of 57. Glasses were raised not least because of his active role in all our youthful stupidity. His crowning glory was buying frogs legs and offering up a ‘chicken sandwich’ to Peter, another housemate. Peter, ever enthusiastic for a free sandwich was a lot quicker to accept the kind offer than to finish it when the protein content was divulged as he munched away.

My hotel was different to the others and I saw maybe more of the city as I trooped in between the two. The centre has tall old buildings, marble pavements and such interesting life whether restaurants, cafes, shops, tourists and churches along my amble. A treat.

On the last morning I volunteered a visit to a car museum – The Automobile and Fashion Museum. This was sensational with some important cars to behold including a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost, a gull wing Mercedes and a DB7.

There was ladies fashion but that mainly consisted of mannequins displaying dresses to mollify the bored female visitor I suspect. Naturally Tim didn’t participate despite the preponderance of comforting gas-guzzlers and a welcome return to the 20^th Century.

So it was one last quick lunch and then hand shakes, we haven’t progressed to hugs yet, and then Tim and Neil departed toward the airport to return to London. I headed to Seville and Paul to Valencia with his wife. Making memories is the important thing in life and this was a fine few days.