It doesn’t matter how rich you are, Money does not seem to buy you loyalty.
Take Simon Cowell.
He had an affair with his best friend’s wife, made her pregnant, the marriage broke up, and now Cowell and said lady are showing their offspring to the world.
A few days ago, Katie Price, (AKA model Jordan) announced she was six months pregnant with her fifth child, and had no idea of her condition.
Yesterday, the media is full of her soon-to-be-ex husband having an affair with her best friend of 15 years. What a bitch. Even more so, as according to reports, this affair started some seven months ago, shortly before Ms Price gave birth to the couple’s first child together (her fourth) .
I’ve grown tired of the celebrity Bed Hopping Merry-Go-Round, but I have to admit, I do feel sorry for Ms Price for being betrayed this way. It’s bad enough for your spouse to cheat, but with your best friend? That really sucks.
Best friends. Hm. That’s a toughie.
Apart from the four legged variety, only Hubby, Bro and our mate 200 odd miles away fit into that category as far as I’m concerned.
I had a Best Friend at junior school (age 7-11) even though I changed schools for my 3rd and 4th years. Her name was Jennifer, and like me, she had been born in a council house on our estate.
We did everything together, from sitting side by side in class, playing games at break time, dining at the same dinner table, and holding hands in the school crocodile whenever we had outdoor lessons or school sports. We would invite each other to our birthday parties, have tea at each others houses, ‘pitch’ the blanket tent over the wash line in our gardens, and do all the little girl things like play with dolls, dressing up, riding our three wheeler bikes and skipping rope games.
When we moved, Jennifer and I wrote to each other frequently. Once she came to stay at our new house, and we had a midnight feast, smuggling in crisps, sweets and bottles of pop to stuff ourselves when the adults were asleep. We sat cross legged on the beds with our torches, did puzzles and read comics, and sniggered into our hands about ‘silly little boys’.
I passed my 11+ and went to Grammar School. Jennifer didn’t and went to a secondary modern.
We lost touch within weeks, and I felt as if a part of me was missing.
I hadn’t made any real friends at my other Junior school, and Grammar was no different. Most of the girls were in little clicks already having been in the same class in their previous school and although I went up to Grammar with 7 other girls from mine, I was not put in the same class as any of them.
I muddled my way through for the next five years, had friends of the fair weather variety, but no-one I could call a Best Friend, though to be honest, that didn’t really bother me.
It was the same in my working relationships. I got on OK with everyone and several of us got ‘chummy’, but a lasting friendship? No. None.
Hubby is a Forces Brat. His childhood was totally different to mine, and at the age of 8, rather than travel with his parents, he was put into Boarding School.
Pretty much a loner, he grew independent at a very early age, though he had a friend called Raymond, and they used to go hiking together.
As an adult when he joined the forces himself, he was used to being moved around the world at short notice, and although he had acquaintances, lasting friendships weren’t forged, as when one side moved on, the other was soon forgotten.
I met Our Mate in Bristol more than 26 years ago, as his wife and I signed on for foreign students at the same time, and we contacted each other to discuss our ‘charges’ travel arrangements to and from the college.
The skid marks are still outside her house where I slammed on my brakes in fury when our French visitors were expecting us to be their personal taxi service. She had just collected the pair of them from the next village and they had called me in to TAKE THEM BACK some 20 minutes later.
One evening, they wanted to go to the cinema to see Crocodile Dundee 2, and requested we took them as there was no bus to coincide with the start of the performance or back to our little village after the showing.
With concerns for their safety after dark and without telling them, we got tickets too, but rather than cramp their style, we sat three rows behind them. They were not impressed.
I moved away from the area in 1989 and we both cried as we had each found a true friend.
We kept in touch though, and when Hubby and I got together, they were really pleased for me. They liked him on sight and he them. We visited each other often and rang each other regularly.
In 1998, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and although they had found it early, she died in 2000 at the age of 53. I have a fantastic picture of her eating a ‘Magpie’s Nest’ ice cream in the New Forest. This ice cream stands about 12 inches high in a sugar cone and is covered in chocolate sauce, hundreds and thousands, toffee bits and any other sprinkles you choose from a selection of about 20. You’re given a napkin and a spoon to eat it, and get in a helluva mess. We all had one. It was a fabulous day, one of the last and best we shared together, even though she was so ill.
I still miss her, but her husband has kept in touch all these years. He is more than our friend, he is our Family. He stood by us when we were down and at our lowest ebb seven years ago.
We invited him here and got him stripping wallpaper on his first visit (I have photos!) , he loves my cooking, and on the occasions we have visited him, he gets all the ingredients in for a roast in the hope that I’ll cook it for him (no problem) .
We consoled each other when our respective dogs died, and are always there for each other at the end of the phone. He had a computer problem a little while ago, and two hours later, Hubby had talked him through it. He was over the moon, with new firewalls and virus checkers in place.
Hubby refers to him as my Boyfriend, which caused major confusion (and interest) at my last job as they couldn’t work it out, especially as we all get on so well!
True friends are hard to come by. They are rare and precious in a world where everyone is out to shaft you for a percentage, who only want to know you for what they can get or bleed you of, and those you thought were your friends actually stab you in the back, are two faced and unreliable.
I trust three people: Hubby, my Bro in NZ and my ‘Boyfriend’.