I have a great group of male friends who I’ve known since sixth form college. Our lives have all moved on now and we rarely all get together as a group anymore, but I still have a fierce love for them and cannot help but think of them as ‘my boys’. Whenever I know I’m going to see them, my chest tightens with happiness. I joked with one of them at Easter that my problem with men is that none are as good as they are; many a true word said in jest, I’ve reflected since.
Despite not seeing each other that often now we are older, the last twenty-four hours has seen a flurry of contact and reminders about how much I love them and what a solid, stalwart presence they are in my life – whatever the circumstances or distance between us. One got in touch quite out of the blue yesterday morning to arrange meeting up next week. In the afternoon, I found a postcard that another had sent me telling me of his engagement in Cornwall. The fact that he’d taken the time to write and send me a postcard of his news so thrilled me at the time that I’ve kept it, I guess as a symbol of friendship and feeling connected. Then in the evening came a text exchange that has continued this morning, culminating in the friend saying he’ll come down from Edinburgh (ie about 250 miles) to see me one Saturday when I’m free. In response to my surprise at this gesture, he said ‘why wouldn’t I go that far to visit you?’. Thanks, Rob – it’s only 9.04am and you’ve made my day.