It’s a law written by the authors of all coming-of-age stories: friendships are sacrosanct. It was drilled into my head as a young woman, via Dolly magazines and the patchwork folklore of “girl code”, that there could be no greater sin than ignoring your friends for the passing fixation of a boyfriend. Seinfeld, Sex and the City, Girls, hell, even Entourage all reinforce the sanctity of our chosen people. The 12 times my year 8 English teacher made our class sit through Stand By Me cemented it. Say nothing of Bert and Ernie’s strange and enduring dynamic in Sesame Street.

There’s a reason it’s Best Friends Forever and not Pals for a While, I Guess, Just While it’s Convenient.

The resilience of our friendships strengthens over time. Petty differences – their grating perpetual lateness, or their concrete refusal to let you be the worst version of yourself – are nothing to 25 years of shorthand. My oldest friend and I agree: if we met one another now, we probably wouldn’t be able to stand one another, but we met when we were eight years old, obsessed with gymnastics and horses, so if either of us ever gets married,........

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