Clare Teal: Magic moments before a date with margarita in Malibu

It's good to be home, although I'd be lying if I said I wasn't missing the California sun. The weather was just glorious, as was the venue – built for the event over an ornate outdoor swimming pool, said pool became the glass-bottomed dance floor and a whole new building erected over and around it.

Pristine white (including the piano, mic stands and music stands), the walls were covered with thousands of enormous hand-made paper flowers. Beautiful chandeliers hung over the rose-petal-bedecked tables and tres chic Perspex chairs. Banks of lights were hidden in the walls among the paper flowers.

The look, when lit, was mind-blowing as the settings changed with every song. It was a truly magical evening.

Afterwards, at the hotel, we chomped on late-night burgers reluctantly made by night porter Anastasio who told us in no uncertain terms that fries were not an option as the chip pan was unplugged at 11pm.

I can't honestly say that microwaved crisps have the same appeal but it was a nice gesture.

The next day, the boys all left, Grant for New York, Benny and Simon back to England, and it was here that our holiday began. We opted for a fruit breakfast at Codys that morning as the old trousers were feeling a little snug around the waist area.

On to the car hire where they were clearly out of Nissan Micras – giving us a 4x4 that could easily have eaten two Land Rovers for breakfast, with a side order of Micra. Getting the thing out of the tiny underground car park was a comedic spectacle I'd rather erase from my memory; I'm just thrilled we took out the extra 'don't worry if you hit stuff' insurance.

Muddy, thankfully, drove 591 of the 600 miles we covered. That day we headed 150 miles north on Pacific Coast Highway 1, through Torrey Pines, Laguna Beach, Newport Beach, Sunset Beach and Santa Monica, arriving in Malibu just in time for a stunning sunset made even better by bagging the last ocean-front room at the Casa Malibu Inn On The Beach.

Throw in a couple of dolphins and a margarita for good measure, and there you have it – Scarborough on a stick.