Friends indeed

BEING surrounded by friends and loved ones makes you realise how lucky you are just to be little old you.
Sitting at the top of the dinner table I felt like a proud Italian mother looking at her brood. With only a few exceptions outwith control, I had overcome the logistics of getting all of my friends in the same room at the same time; something that had never happened before, and probably will never happen again.
Before I could get to this content and nostalgic state I had to tackle a hung-over Glaswegian missing the bus; a settee not being delivered on time; a blocked drain and the inability to find something to wear, despite having spending power — it’s always the way isn’t it!
I’m usually a nightmare shopping anyway, but I usually give myself the best part of the day for shopping expeditions such as this. I must have put two of my friends, who actually managed to get the bus on time, through a living hell.
By the time I had met the suffering straggler I had my outfit sorted — all I had to do was get home to condense the long and stressful process of ensuring five women had suitable appliances, power points and mirror space to get showered, dried, straightened, made up and dressed into two hours.
As the birthday girl I was seated at the head of the table. It was quite fitting actually — after all they do say your friends are the family that you choose, and for the purposes of the evening I was the Mama.
I’m very lucky to be able to call these people my friends. They’ve been there through all the good times, and more importantly, the bad times.
You could almost make a dateline using them to chart different periods of my life.
Firstly you have my best friend, who out of all of my friends is the one who I’ve known longest. My favourite memory is seeing her walk down the street with a ‘for sale’ sign over her shoulder after a Hogmanay party.
Then you have my two flatmates from college, who I was thrown together with seven years ago when we were youngsters away from home for the first time. Our friendship continues to grow and grow and I know we will always be close, even if it’s not geographically.
Then there is the college classmate who lived on my bedroom floor for the majority of term time — the one who had earlier missed the bus; the one who once put dry pasta in my microwave and the one who has glitter ingrained into her skin.
Joining her at the other end of the table, and from that era of my life, is a friend who started as a friend of another college friend. She gives the best advice, regardless if you want it or not. Next to her was another college friend who I had lost touch with in recent times. She’s just such a nice person, and perhaps didn’t deserve being put through the said shopping trip from hell.
Since returning from college days I’ve been privileged to meet another group of fantastic people.
There’s my pre-engaged friend — waiting after six years for her boyfriend to give at least some indication of an impending marriage; MNBF (My new best friend) with whom I clicked in a major way after (and not because) I groped her live on stage;
My frustratingly single friend, and recent holiday companion, who makes a good impression on everyone she meets. It’s just a pity she can’t do a good impression, though I think her ‘Paul Daniels’ is magic; The friend who knew I would join her falling about the floor laughing at ‘golden parsnip’ crisps. She thinks she’s the last to know everything, when in fact she’d be one of the first people I’d tell anything;
Another friend who has embraced the love of beautiful shoes and haute handbags, but has never seen a complete series of Sex and the City; and finally the one who last weekend was faced with the dilemma of saving her hair or £60 handbag from the rain, and who led the way to the Manhattans and French Martinis of a bar Carrie and the girls would be proud of.
Excuse me for being poetic now, but I suppose the relationship I have with my friends can be summed up as being like a cocktail; the main ingredient being me, with all different flavours added for contrasting results.
I really hope that in years to come I can still count on these people as my friends. I would hate to look at pictures from the night years from now and say: “What was her name again?”
Regardless of where they are, or the length of time between our meetings I couldn’t imagine my life without any of them. Our friendships have remained strong and true in the face of adversity, some for as long as eight years, so I’m confident they will endure whatever comes in the future.