Want to regain your youth? Find a friend half your age!
other friends, all younger than me, in a rousing rock anthem. It was the same story at my surprise 70th party. Georgia was the life and soul — egging me on to dance that little bit more, sing that little bit louder.
I need fixes of young people to give me ideas for my books, on what to wear, listen to, see — and, most importantly, to replenish my soul. My three daughters do it for me too, but it somehow works better with friends.
So, call me immature (surely, the ultimate compliment), but I say hurrah for younger friends, for life with them is never boring, and that’s the greatest of gifts.
The Woman In The Wood by Lesley Pearse (Michael Joseph), £18.99.
THEY ENLARGE MY LIFE Jo Foley TRAVEL and wellness writer Jo Foley, 71, surrounds herself with younger friends.
It’S a funny old thing, friendship. It appears to be a basic need in our psyche.
What is it for? Why do we need it? How do we find a friend?
the dictionary definition is basically ‘one who wishes you well’, ‘not an enemy’ or ‘one joined to another in mutual benevolence and intimacy’.
Without the intimacy, you could say the same about the butcher or the woman at the local dry cleaner. But friends play a significant part in our lives — especially if, like me, you don’t have children or a family close by.
the old adage is that you don’t choose your family, but you do choose your friends — those people you get on with, have much in common with, laugh and sometimes cry with.
Mostly, they are from your peer group, but I am lucky enough to have a few who are younger than me — one, at 28, much less than half my 71 years — and the striking thing is not that I have chosen them, but they have chosen me.
a couple, alex at 28, and Vin at 45, are the daughters of old friends, whom I have known all their lives from sweet six-yearolds to tragic teens and beyond.
Others I have acquired along the way, such as Jane (46) and Lisa (41) from work, and Peter (31) on my travels.
I have stopped asking them what they want, or get from me. It ain’t money, as I have told them I’m planning to die in debt, although when I downsized a few years ago, I invited them to take what they wanted, as nothing was coming to my new place with me.
the odd thing is they seem to like my company — not just as an old head to confer with, or a spongy shoulder to cry on, but to have a drink with, an outing with or to share a dinner and a laugh.
and no, I don’t do a Fergie and go partying with them. they’d be mortified if I suggested it, even though they do invite me to go on holiday with them.
they enlarge my life, constantly introduce me to new things and help me (occasionally) with my cack-handed efforts at using social media without being at all patronising.
One hit Primark and bought me the trainers and sunglasses that I had admired on her, another took me to my favourite restaurant, Colombe d’Or in the South of France, for my birthday, while a third introduced me to the delights of american comedian David Sedaris.
the Primark princess buys me caviar for Christmas, while the male in the ring cooks delicious suppers. they bring amusement, advice on anything from wine to builders, explain emojis and improve my terrible selfies.
Most of all they are kind and forgiving, they don’t bitch and they always find excuses for somebody’s bad behaviour.
My generation, long in the tooth, complain about everything. My young friends always find a reason why something isn’t what it is supposed to be, and move on. they are politically left and morally right. Perhaps it’s because they know time is on their side.
and finally, one of them is an executor to my will. When she discovered that I wanted my ashes to be flung into the atlantic, she volunteered her precious 2.55 Chanel bag in which to encase them. No greater love (I refused, naturally).