Friends reunited

The one where we had actual visitors over from the UK!

Well, this is awkward. I said I was taking a summer break for "a few weeks" and that I would write again in mid-August. It's now mid-September. Perhaps none of you even noticed. Now, that would be awkward! But I'll assume that some of you did, and apologise for my absence because despite not posting in a while, people have continued to follow and subscribe to this newsletter and I don't take that for granted. I have really missed writing to you. 

No big dramas to report; life just got in the way. We took a trip back to the UK and made memories. "Who needs the PCH?!" declared Chris, as we took the coastal route through Wales on an uncharacteristically sunny day. A couple of days and a torrential downpour later and those rose-tinted glasses had firmly come off, let me tell you.

I then returned to LA with a nasty bout of bronchitis and recovered in time to begin a ten-day stint of solo parenting when Chris had to travel for work. Meanwhile, our recently-toilet-trained daughter Maggie turned three, I took on a challenging home organising project, and my best friend Liz came to visit for two weeks with her husband, Chris, and their five-year-old son.

To coin an LA phrase, IT'S BEEN A LOT. But honestly, I would happily relive the most stressful bits of the last couple of months all over again if it resulted in a visit from loved ones. For someone who often gets homesick for the UK, it was, in a word, joyful to have Liz - who I have known since we were 11 years old - in LA. Thanks to Covid and the rising cost of living (I mean, I'm hoping it's not us!) we haven't had family or close friends visit in over four years. 

Liz and Chris were the first people to come to see us when we moved out here in the spring of 2019 so it felt particularly special that they should be the ones to return after something of a guest drought. Some of you reading will know our shared background but for the benefit of others, allow me to digress, for context, below...

Liz was a very good friend of mine in school who became particularly important to me as we navigated our early twenties. I haven't written much about our 30-year friendship before but reflecting on it now, I feel like fate has intervened and bound us together on multiple occasions. 

It was a complete coincidence that we both found jobs in London and relocated there in the summer of 2006. There was no grand plan, other than us sensibly agreeing to find separate flat-shares as we wanted the space to make friends of our own. We are quite different (Liz explains politics to me; I encourage her to talk about her feelings) yet similar enough to be likened to sisters (the Wirral accent has a lot to answer for). And life in London - and our shared love of gigs, shopping and wine (which makes us sound dreadfully basic doesn't it? Sorry, Liz!) - brought us closer together than ever. 

Fast forward to late 2011 and I'm single (Liz having nursed me through my 1089th heartbreak) when Marie Claire, where I'm working as an entertainment writer, asks me to go on a series of blind dates for a story. Relatively new to the magazine and desperate to prove myself as a writer, I agree to the brief and let my boss, brother and best friend each set me up with a guy.

It was only supposed to be a bit of fun. "Wear flat shoes," Liz suggested before my date with her choice - a work friend of her then boyfriend (now husband) Chris, also called Chris. Not a sentence one expects to hear before meeting the man they will go on to marry. But I did (and well, I did!) and the rest as they say, is history. 

If Liz felt like family before, then the marital union of her and her Chris in 2015 and myself and my Chris a year later in 2016 cemented our unique bond. To quote Charles Dickens, however, 'it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.' Just as we were starting to contemplate being parents ourselves, my mum, and Liz's mum were both diagnosed with cancer and passed away within months of each other in 2017. 

It’s really hard to get a decent selfie of four friends and their two children under five. Here’s proof!

The next coincidence was a happier one. Following a period of house-hunting Chris and I exchanged on a place in Walthamstow, in East London. We knew Liz and Chris had just bought a house there too but it's quite a big place. Turns out our houses were on parallel streets, a three minute walk from each other. We both moved into our new homes in early 2018 and bought walkie-talkies to celebrate (which sounds much creepier that it was). 

It was a wrench when Chris and I decided to move to LA in 2019. So you can understand why Liz and Chris' recent visit meant so much, and what it represented. Because they aren't just friends, or neighbours, they are like family. And even though we're obviously in touch regularly (we got through lockdown by having Mario Kart marathons every Sunday from our respective living rooms in our respective countries - the joy of technology!) I miss experiencing the everyday together.

This post was going to be about all the things we did together in LA - a sort of 'visitor's guide' - instead, it's been more about our friendship itself, and that feels rather apt. Because while we certainly went places (our day trips included Montecito and Disneyland) and Liz and I managed to squeeze in child-free coffee dates and rooftop spicy margs, these are not necessarily the things I'll remember.

Opening a bottle of champagne on a Sunday night in a haze of jet lag and delirium and playing Duplo with the kids. Spending an hour installing a toddler car seat in an underground garage after we've promised two restless under-5-year-olds a trip to the splash-pad. A quick dash around Whole Foods. Introducing Liz and Chris (past neighbours) to Claudia (current neighbour) and it being like they've known each other forever. Lying on the sofa after a long day and sticking on Bluey "for the kids" but spending the next half an hour comparing our favourite episodes. 

The shorthand that only exists with old friends. Time spent with people who know you as well, if not, better, than you know yourself. These are the things I’ll remember. Because they are the things that matter. Until next time.