Being a singleton, close friendships have been the cental relationship in my life so far.
Here's a list of the closest-
Shirley Baron 1971-1982.
John Widdup 1979-1982.
Elaine Hooley 1983-1986.
Sara Acteson/ Perry Oldfield 1987-1992.
Hon. Victoria Lingard/ Nicola Wright 1991-1997.
Milly Lotti 1996-present day.
Don McAlpin/ John Torrance 2000- present day.
Julien Macdonald 2001- present day.
Although some of these friendships have lessened in intensity over the years, l'm pleased to say l still have contact with all the above people who l've journied through life with at various times.
I mentioned Widdup the other week because l missed his 40th birthday party because Aunt Ros was ill and l hadn't slept.
This is Widdy.
When l returned to Lancashire in January 2004 after nearly 20 years in exile l needed a job. I had what seemed like a fortune in the bank from selling my flat, and had everything to look forward to. Not one to sit on my ass for long, l was happy to be offered a job at Airtours. Not what l had been trained or had experience in, but l knew l was leaving the world of fashion when l left London.
The first four weeks was a training course. Suited and booted, l drove to The Globe Centre in my first ever car [l'd never needed one in cities, although l'd driven since l was 17.] Waiting in reception most people seemed to be young but l was glad to see there was a middle aged man there older than me as well as a lot of younger girls.
Training room, flip chart, name badges [David Brent?] The first exercise was to interview the person next to you then stand up and introduce them to the group. l quized a beautiful blond called Kym. A spotty Herbert was the first to go.
"This is John Widdup, originally from Wiswell, just back from living in Latvia.............."
WIDDUP? WIDDY? JOHN?
l interupted the Herbert to tell the group that this grey haired, middle aged man was my best friend from school who l hadn't seen for over twenty years!!!
Apparently he'd recognised me but wanted to see how long before l would twig on to his existance. After all l still look like l did when l was 16 but without the acne!! We did a brief resume of the past twenty odd years and l learnt he'd been teaching English in Latvia, was still a nutter and was waiting for his wife and step daughter to move to the UK to join him.
We both started at Queen Elizabeth's Grammar School at the start of the summer term 1978. Widdup had failed the entrance exam twice, perhaps the school coffers were empty then as they let three of us in based solely on interviews.
Starting mid acedemic year was hard, and we both struggled to catch up but we did. ln the summer of that year l came home to Mum telling me that nice boy from school and phoned up, and she'd asked us to come water ski-ing with us the next day. l suppose thats when we became more than mates fron school and became friends. He seemed very posh, they had a study! We had a pool so it evened out. His parents were Ribble Valley, my Mum and Dad were Ossy born and bred. His Dad was a miserable bastard who had nothing to do with his children, my Dad took us to the Rovers, water ski-ing and was always doing stuff with us.
Finger ache- to be continued if not too hung over after The Stag meet!
Here's a list of the closest-
Shirley Baron 1971-1982.
John Widdup 1979-1982.
Elaine Hooley 1983-1986.
Sara Acteson/ Perry Oldfield 1987-1992.
Hon. Victoria Lingard/ Nicola Wright 1991-1997.
Milly Lotti 1996-present day.
Don McAlpin/ John Torrance 2000- present day.
Julien Macdonald 2001- present day.
Although some of these friendships have lessened in intensity over the years, l'm pleased to say l still have contact with all the above people who l've journied through life with at various times.
I mentioned Widdup the other week because l missed his 40th birthday party because Aunt Ros was ill and l hadn't slept.
This is Widdy.
When l returned to Lancashire in January 2004 after nearly 20 years in exile l needed a job. I had what seemed like a fortune in the bank from selling my flat, and had everything to look forward to. Not one to sit on my ass for long, l was happy to be offered a job at Airtours. Not what l had been trained or had experience in, but l knew l was leaving the world of fashion when l left London.
The first four weeks was a training course. Suited and booted, l drove to The Globe Centre in my first ever car [l'd never needed one in cities, although l'd driven since l was 17.] Waiting in reception most people seemed to be young but l was glad to see there was a middle aged man there older than me as well as a lot of younger girls.
Training room, flip chart, name badges [David Brent?] The first exercise was to interview the person next to you then stand up and introduce them to the group. l quized a beautiful blond called Kym. A spotty Herbert was the first to go.
"This is John Widdup, originally from Wiswell, just back from living in Latvia.............."
WIDDUP? WIDDY? JOHN?
l interupted the Herbert to tell the group that this grey haired, middle aged man was my best friend from school who l hadn't seen for over twenty years!!!
Apparently he'd recognised me but wanted to see how long before l would twig on to his existance. After all l still look like l did when l was 16 but without the acne!! We did a brief resume of the past twenty odd years and l learnt he'd been teaching English in Latvia, was still a nutter and was waiting for his wife and step daughter to move to the UK to join him.
We both started at Queen Elizabeth's Grammar School at the start of the summer term 1978. Widdup had failed the entrance exam twice, perhaps the school coffers were empty then as they let three of us in based solely on interviews.
Starting mid acedemic year was hard, and we both struggled to catch up but we did. ln the summer of that year l came home to Mum telling me that nice boy from school and phoned up, and she'd asked us to come water ski-ing with us the next day. l suppose thats when we became more than mates fron school and became friends. He seemed very posh, they had a study! We had a pool so it evened out. His parents were Ribble Valley, my Mum and Dad were Ossy born and bred. His Dad was a miserable bastard who had nothing to do with his children, my Dad took us to the Rovers, water ski-ing and was always doing stuff with us.
Finger ache- to be continued if not too hung over after The Stag meet!