Once upon a time there was a boy called Josh, I met him whilst camping, we had a thing, he bruised my heart, then my best friend was named after him.
Josh, it’s a normal name for a girl, honest.
I am a big fan of this girl, she has listened to me cry down the phone, she has squealed down the phone with me, she has been there through break ups and make ups. She has sent people to find me when I’ve gone missing, we have our own language (like all best friends do.) This girl gets me.
She is crazy talented, she writes wonderfully and is so creative with the ideas that she comes up with. She has an wonderful capacity to love people, to forgive people and to be compassionate.
There is a reason she is my best friend (other than all of those.)
She speaks out for what she believes in, not just rugby players thighs, but you know other important stuff. During the last few years of our mateship I have put her through some interesting experiences. I can’t imagine how unbelievably hard it must be to have a best-friend who half the time didn’t want to be alive, who kept trying to push you around, but this girl has conviction and faithfulness so stuck it out, and I am so much the better for it. Because of all I have put her through, and because of her general sense of justice, she is a real advocate for changing the stigma around Mental Health and Self-Harm, supporting and encouraging charities and people that work towards this change.
She is one determined, motivated, opinionated, thigh loving, Gilmore Girl watching puppy.
And gosh do I love her. Which is why I love me, because I have an impeccable taste in friends.