I love my girlfriends. I’m a bit addicted to my inbox. It’s just lovely to login and find a perky email there from one of my friends, telling me all their news. It’s the émigrée’s alternative to a cup of tea and a chat - a kind of virtual coffee morning for the geographically challenged (ooh, I like that one).

This week, in no particular order, I’ve heard about R’s new baby niece, Tilly (isn’t that just the sweetest name? Congratulations!!!), and C’s romantic Valentine’s Day, where they got the best table in the house and felt obliged (as you do) to order Champagne to show everyone how romantic they were (oh, and B’s not so romantic Valentine’s Day, but then he rallied late in the day by having flowers delivered so it was all okay in the end). I’ve heard about everybody’s coughs, colds and snotty noses, and they’ve heard about all our ailments in return, and all about the snow in the UK (Hubby’s sister D and her mates competed with the kids by sledging down the biggest hill they could find and crashing into a hedge at the bottom), ooh and a rather spectacularly good piece of salacious gossip which, naturally, I can’t repeat but God it was worth it (thank you - you know who you are!).

It’s been tough leaving them behind, but 8 months down the line they haven’t forgotten me. My inbox is still filled with news and gossip and questions and I still feel like I belong at home just a little bit because they keep me involved. In a weird way I feel like I could still join in the conversation at the school gates or round the dinner table, without feeling like I’d actually missed out on the last 8 months’ worth of conversation. It’s life-by-proxy - they just fill me in on all the good bits.

I’m probably not a very pro-active new friend maker. Let’s face it, I live in the middle of a field and it’s a 20 minute drive to the nearest supermarket. Potential friends don’t present themselves here too readily, but J has been a godsend. Thrown together initially by our love of greyhounds - hers long-standing and mine new and sparkly (we met when we adopted the beautiful, rather dastardly and much-missed B from her), our friendship has developed in that nice, meandering way that friendships do, from polite enquiries about the well-being of our new family member, through shared tears when B died and into long phone chats, texts: (’update your blog, woman!!!’) and the odd shared bottle or two.

So there you are - bit of girl power there. Don’t worry; I’m not going to break into a Spice Girls song. I’ve got a sore throat….

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