Last week the residents of Donnington Square descended on an unsuspecting Madrid for Pablo and Mariale’s wedding. I’ve only been once with work, and you never see anything on those trips except the inside of a conference room, so I was really looking forward to all the celebrations but also some time away, and a chance to look around somewhere new. And the sunshine, because the forecast was glorious.

It was the most incredible weekend. One we’ll remember for ever as one of those standout moments in life.

The wedding celebrations began a day early with drinks in a hotel about a 30 minute walk from where we were staying. I’d packed vertiginous heels for the occasion, but walked there in my cowboy boots. After 20 minutes the heels were ditched and boots reinstated, not a great match for my LBD but comfort won out over style. Waiters holding silver trays above their heads wove through the throng, carefully balancing an array of full glasses for guests to pick from. The room thrummed with languages and laughter from the 15 or so different nationalities who’d all come to the city for the wedding.

On Friday the Big Day dawned, and I was feeling exceptionally pleased with myself for having organised an Uber to take us to the church. We got there really early, before all the other guests in fact, so time to take some photos. It was only when we had a closer look and noticed there were no flowers, or any sign of wedding preparations, that we realised I’d booked to go to the wrong church. Same name, different address. The church we needed was thirty minutes away, and we had to be there in thirty minutes.

Eddie flagged down a taxi in the end, and for the thirty minutes it took us to get to the right church you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. I twittered optimistically for a bit trying to lighten the mood but was met with tight lips and tumbleweed. In the end, we got there at the same time as everyone else, but it took quite a while for the frost to thaw.

All was well that ended well. The bride was beautiful. The service was beautiful, and the happy couple tied their knot before heading off the reception, beaming in a blue Beetle.

We jumped in another Uber (not booked by me so we got to the right reception venue), to be met by a long drive and lawn leading up to a pergola under which there was literally anything you wanted to eat or drink from empanadas to mojitos and everything in between. That was before the sit-down lunch with more wine and bubbles – in fact anything you wanted. The bride and groom danced in to ‘Love is in the air’, samba-ing their way through the tables while all us guests whooped and swirled napkins in the air.

It was a marathon not a sprint. Pace was of the essence. But we’d come all that way, and we gave it our all. For 27,000 steps we danced to everything from disco to salsa, pop, rock, jive, metal – everything. I actually wore my heels down to the metal nubs.

The next day we woke up tired but ready to explore, and spent the day walking around the city, meeting some of our friends for beers in the Plaza Mayor, and then heading back for tapas and sharpeners on the rooftop bar of our hotel.

When Sunday came we were ready to come home and return to a socially solitary life for a while after such a busy few days. But we’ve definitely felt we were coming home having reconnected with old friends and made new ones. Above all it was just such a breath of fresh air to be completely free to relax and enjoy a fabulous weekend of love and laughter, putting the stresses of everyday life to one side for a while.

Sometimes it’s only when you do get away, that you realise how much you needed the break.