Me neither, I said to my housemate, laughing. Me. Fucking. Neither.
She was talking about three of the most kick-ass, creative ladies I know, who this weekend I invited to my house for a grown women’s sleepover, because: tribe.
Some people just get you more than others, you know?
It started with the women who made me, on my travels. A group of girls who should never have crossed paths, really, different as we all are, and yet there we found ourselves, on the Italian Riviera, bonding over Nutella-laced gelato and building each other into the women we were always going to be.
Then that woman, the one they built, came to London, and the world was my oyster. But how do you find the people just like you in a city of over eight million? Travellers are easy: they’re out on the road. Who would my London friends be? I tried everything I could to figure it out: dance classes and supper clubs, book meetings and volunteer sessions. My people must be out there, I wailed in the lonely hours, desperate to be understood in the place I now called home.