In ‘normal’ times, I can take friendship a little for granted. I’m rubbish at calling people back, I don’t arrange nearly enough dinners. I like to entertain at home so invite everyone round, but I miss out on seeing the people who can’t make it. When isolation is over, I want to do better. Weekly dinners with my girls, more one-on-ones and lunches and brunches. Because this time of chaos has shown me just how vital my female friendships truly are. Multiple WhatsApp groups have become daily therapy sessions where we can offload about parenting, marriage and work woes; all delivered with unrelenting honesty and received with judgement-free eyes and thumbs.
These are the major WhatsApp groups in my life:
Group One
LA DICKHEADS – this is made up of my sister Jane and best mate Lou. It makes me happier than anything else that I have them both in the same virtual place and that they get on so well. Jane and Louise being friends is magic. We each have two boys. Lou is in Australia, Jane Bristol, me LA. The chat is funny, often self-inflammatory, rarely self-deprecating, and endlessly varied. We tell each other the things we do well, like meals we cook, or things we do around the house. There is no need for us to apologise for acknowledging our greatness, we want to hear it all.
Jane is a garden designer in Bristol (message me if you need one) and Louise runs a cinema in Melbourne (if you’re there, you must all go, it’s called the Thornbury Picture House – shameless best mate plug). Their common ground seems to be taking the piss out of me. This can range from the position I sleep in (face down with my arms by my side; LITERALLY the unsexiest position possible), or my obsession with my appearance (often centred around my eyebrows or hair straighteners), or my appetite (often centred around the sheer magnitude of it). I love it all. No one on this earth knows me better than Jane and Louise. I can be 100 per cent myself at all times. They are the only people I fart in front of. Unless it’s an accident.
Group Two
US LOT – on here we have Kelly, Michelle and Mel. These are my LA besties. We all have young kids, and we text all day every day about kids, family life and vaginas. The chat here is random and more about the day-to-day grind. It’s funny and supportive and a great place to bitch about the small stuff. Michelle works in business. Mel works for a start-up called Daily Karma, and she is also a doula (she watched Valentine come out of me) and a badass women’s rights activist. And Kelly is an ex popstar turned singer/songwriter with a voice like an angel who is currently learning how to perform sound baths. We all have two kids each. Workwise, I rarely have any idea what Mel and Michelle are talking about, and Kelly is all earthy and spiritual. They are all quite earthy and spiritual actually. Kelly lives a bit further away, but Mel and Michelle and I live streets away from each other, so it was really weird not seeing them as much in person in the early days of isolation. Even though we were socially distant, we still felt close. We’d hear the same helicopters circling the neighbourhood and bump into each other sometimes. These guys are very important to Chris and me. None of us live near our families, so we are all aunts and uncles to each other’s kids. Our kids have grown up together. And as soon as the restrictions began to lift a little, they were the first people we wanted the kids to see.
Group Three
DRUNKEN TURTLES – this one is a real breakthrough group from 2020. Art’s school year was called the ‘Sea turtles’. We had a ‘mum dinner’ that I was terrified about, but we all got on great and then set up a WhatsApp group, which is a real hoot. I’d been terrified about the dinner because I had thoughts like, ‘just because we have kids doesn’t mean we have anything in common’. Blah blah blah. I was still in total denial that I was a forty-year-old mother of two. I’d had years of negative ‘school gate’ chat drilled into me from other mums, TV shows, articles, etc., and I didn’t want to be a part of it. I wanted to be the kind of mum who dropped my kid off and picked him up, no more involvement. I didn’t want my life to become about PTAs and school fundraisers. BOOOORRRIIINNNGGGGG. I presumed ALL other mothers were the exact opposite of me and that all we would talk about at the dinner would be the kids and the teachers.
Turns out, I am the only asshole in the group, because all the mums are totally awesome, way cooler than I could ever be, and all interesting, hilarious and super smart. And I realised as I chomped down on the best chicken parmesan I have ever had in my life, that I was ready to be a forty-year-old mother of two, and that talking about the kids with like-minded people was actually fun. I love these women. I am delighted to be one of them. That night we all ate too much, drank too much and massively over-shared. My favourite kind of evening.
The WhatsApp chat is fun.
The chat ranges from parenting to gyno appointments, rants about Trump, recommendations for local stuff, TV shows and medical matters. We also have one paediatric doctor in the group, so she is amazing at answering any Covid-related questions we have. There’s a manager of some major pop stars and a sex therapist too, among many other interesting people. And that is what I have come to love about being a mum with a kid at school; you get thrust in with people you might never otherwise meet and, if you embrace it, it can be really, really fun. I have a lot to thank this group for. They kicked off my experience of being a ‘school mum’ with a blast. I’m finally really into it – it’s just a shame the bloody school has been shut down.
Group Four
BEST CREW EVER – this one consists of my friends Gemma, Ophelia and Josie. We were all close to Caroline and every now and then one of us pops up in this group to say, ‘Hey, I feel sad, how you guys doing?’ and it’s lovely. When you lose a friend, friendship becomes everything.
After the funeral, we knew we had to be there for each other. It’s obviously been hard, especially with me being in America, and the world being in lockdown. But we all loved her so much and this group is there when any of us need it. All my friends have been there for me this year, but the ones who knew Caroline like I did have been very important. This chat group is like a cushion of warm, cosy support; a massive comfort in very testing times.
I also want to give a shout out to Nancy, Carrie, Cam, Shawnta, Kristen, Jo, Dee and many more … You know who you are. I have so many brilliant women that I call my friends. I know that makes me very lucky and I feel it deep in my bones. There is a good chance that none of them will read this book, but if you do, I LOVE YOU and thanks.
I believe female friendship makes the world a better place. Men operate more individually, striving for personal success. That is a huge generalisation, but I’m pretty certain it is true. A man’s mentality is to hunter-gather and provide for himself and his family. A woman’s mentality is to connect with others and build community. We spread ourselves further, we lean on each other more. When you share yourself with other women, and you allow them to do the same, you find your power. The women in my life are my backbone. I tell my friends everything, always, all of them. The second a thing happens, my thumbs get into action and tell them. The immediate inpouring of support is something I have come to rely on.
Here are the reasons why female friendship is so important:
In lockdown, it all happened on my phone. The WhatsApp groups were like unscrewing a bottle of something fizzy. Each message relieved a little bit of pressure, provided a moment of relief, a reassurance that the female energy in my life will always be there, even when one is gone. In such sadness there was solidarity. I felt very lucky to be a woman.
I feel sad for my two sons that they will never feel the power of female friendship for themselves. The least I can do is surround them with mine. As soon as this is over, regular ‘Ladies Nights’ will be a feature in our house. I want Art and Valentine to feel the energy of that solidarity. The laughter, the support, the warmth and maybe, most importantly, the incredible display of sensational vintage kaftans.