Pancakes and poppies

Two of my beautiful friends planned something wonderful. A holiday. They would take a week off work, I would stay at one of their homes.

They reproduced the essentials from my home environment as near as possible. Then they left me to rest. But come meal-time, it was on. Meals were the joyful axis upon which our day spun.

We ate pizza with roasted vegetables and fetta cheese. Smoked-salmon and mushroom risotto. Pad Thai with organic chicken breast. Gluten-free quiche with prosciutto and baby spinach. A warm salad of roast pumpkin, pancetta, rocket, buffalo mozarella, pine and pistachio nuts. We almost had sushi, another favourite, but ran out of time. The last evening, when they were both exhausted from thrice-daily culinary efforts and waiting on me hand-and-foot, a simple pasta.

The table was always set beautifully. One morning when I staggered out, there was a huge red teapot brewing quietly beside a tall vase of poppies. Our plates were laden with buckwheat and banana pancakes topped with lemon-myrtle yoghurt, roasted nuts, strawberries and maple syrup. It was so special I almost cried; instead I crowed with delight.

In my room there was a gorgeous bed made with white linen, and a vase of pansies on the bedside table. My friend's cat adopted the foot of the bed - apparently she never sleeps in that room, but did the whole time I was there.

The weather was cold and the wooden house creaked on its stilts. There were tiny gaps between some floorboards, I could see the earth below. My friend kept a fire burning in the lounge room, next to my room. I heard her get up in the middle of the night to stoke it, so I would stay warm.

I wondered what I'd done to deserve incredible friends like this. Such love and nurturing, without fuss. I was cocooned in all that is good. It was one of the best weeks of my life.