LI FE MOST FABULOUS

Yes. We. Are. Bloody. Mad. Mad. I say

SOME days I feel like I have been run over by a bus. I clamber from minor catastrophe to moderate calamity to major quagmire, only to get to the end of the day wondering a) how did I make it through, and b) should wine be administered by glass or intravenous drip.

We all do it: lie in bed, listen to the rain and reckon with ourselves about how we handled a situation, how we managed to cope and whether or not we made the right decision.

We construct, deconstruct and reconstruct. We analyse. We pontificate. We drive ourselves insane. Then we drag our sorry souls out of bed the next day, dust off our optimism and drive and zest for life (which apparently, we have in lashings) and we front up to do it all again. We. Are. Bloody. Mad. Mad. I say.

But just when we fear all is lost, enter those people-most-fabulous in our lives who make it doable. Our friends are there through every decision, both good and bad (the best of friends will tell you when it’s the latter, even when you don’t want to hear it); they are there for every champagne snorted laugh, every spontaneous outburst of tears, every moment of self-doubt, self-loathing and self-empowerment.

They are the ones who pick you up, dust you off. They tell you when you are wonderful and when you are being a self-absorbed cow. They rally when times are revolting and are your fierce rival in the coveted, yet fictional Mother of the Year stakes.

They have seen you at your best, your worst, your snottiest. Blessed are we who have amazing friends to cherish.

They make life more bearable, more worthwhile. For our friends we should always be grateful, and we should always be there in return. To mine, thank you. You make my life most fabulous.