Daily Mail writer Julie Burchill is a lot cooler about friendship than you are, I guess.
My second husband believed I had such a fickle attitude to friendship that each Friday he would update the list of my ‘Top Ten’ friends in the manner of a Top Of The Pops chart countdown.
It went something like this: ‘And straight in at number five — for writing a flattering article — it’s Daisy Waugh.
‘But down three places — for not being sufficiently fawning at the Groucho Club last night — it’s Emma Forrest!’ And so on.
Good lord – this woman sounds awful.
Having ‘best friends’ is — at least for me — as outdated and small-minded a concept as the idea of ‘Sunday best clothes’.
When I hear people say, ‘I’ve only got three friends and that’s all I need,’ I find myself speculating about them being serial killers. To me it’s just not natural.
Really? I suppose, I define a friend as anyone who, if they, say, suffered kidney failure, I would immediately go to visit in the hospital. I’d define “one of my best friends” as someone for whom I’d immediately check to see if I could donate a kidney. And, dude. You really can’t have more than three in that case. You need to bank on not having to donate too many kidneys. Because you only have 2, according to the Internet. I am pretty sure you can only give away one kidney and live. Like, 100% sure.
I think there’s a metaphor in there, but I’m worried that since I define levels of friendship by “the extent to which I’d be willing to blithely toss people my internal organs” that I might be reinforcing this woman’s “serial killer” point.
But! Friendship. Best friends! Still points in a turning world. People who have known you for years and years, so they can see who you’ve become and understand why you’ve become what you’ve become. People to worry over. People to love. I mean – people to make asshole jokes with, really.
Or maybe they’re for losers, and all you need is people who compliment you at the Groucho Club. I don’t know!