I’ve not been feeling myself in the last few weeks. Tired, fed-up, grumpy. Might be a bug, the weather, existential angst? Trapped wind? All of the above and more. Who knows. It’s made me glad of my friends though. That diverse and fabulous band of women I’ve come to know and love over the years. War-time psychoanalyst and tank commander Wilfred Bion, who was a bit bonkers but also marvellous, said everyone has an internalised matrix of relationships, past and present. It’s long been a source of fascination to me how men seem to have friendships without intimacy. Unless football talk has a code entirely of its own, that only men understand? Maybe ‘Why did they sack Capello? It’s all politics isn’t it?’ translates as ‘I’ve been feeling a bit down. Can we hug?’ Women slip into intimacy in friendships with the ease of putting on a pair of fluffy bunny slippers. Often too much too soon. Once a ‘click’ of mutual understanding takes place, an unspoken emotional ‘access all areas’ pass gets swapped. A wildly exciting plunge into emotional depths can follow; which is horrible if it then goes wrong. But I do love the subtlety and sensitivity of support women can bring to each other, and how deeply funny women can be in each other’s company. I’m self-employed, and my company name is Raucous Maidens. I called it that after hearing a man hiss disapprovingly to his wife in a restaurant about the laughter coming from the table where I sat with women friends. ‘Cackling witches!’ he said. There’s nothing that cheers me up more than women laughing so hard that all those years of pelvic floor exercises come to naught. Unless it’s the sight of a grumpy man disapproving of it.