One thing which I’ve never really become in any way used to in life, despite my extremely advanced years and startlingly wide and varied experience, is, I suppose, one of the sadder things: that of losing friends.

You can lose friends through time and distance driving a wedge between you until it’s just too far gone to be reeled back in, which is pretty much understandable – people change, after all – but a couple of times in the last few years, I’ve had situations where I’ve actually had to say ‘okay, that’s it, we’re over, this friendship is finished’ for whatever reason. And that feels downright odd when you’re meant to be a grown-up.

At school, friendships were paradoxically both prized and fluid; you were friends with someone one day, but could have a falling-out with them over the slightest thing and end up being sworn enemies after that, or you might be best friends on Monday, then not on Tuesday, but back to Best Pals on Wednesday.

But when you’re meant to be an adult, and skilled in communicating and sorting out things which should be small in comparison with the fact that the two of you are getting on (and this applies to other relationships as well, of course) and are friends, it feels rather disappointing that there are sometimes occasions when all the will to repair just won’t make it work again. It’s a sad thing.

I don’t have any lessons to offer or wise words on this, I’m afraid, though I guess for me it’s a reminder that sometimes, and particularly in terms of relationships, there are times when it doesn’t matter how hard you try, and how much you truly want it; sometimes there are things that just can’t be mended or won’t be attained, and in its way that feels like a kick in the mouth for my firmly-held and probably childish belief that it you want something badly enough, and do everything you can to get to it, then…