Christmas 2001. My parents weren’t getting on well and it was all I could do to hold back the tears having just split with my own long-term boyfriend, knowing he was spending Christmas a mere 20 miles away with her (even though he lived in Manchester). My brother was, well, my brother: a hormonal stroppy teenager of 17.
But there was one ray of hope. I had IRC. I was able to chat to my friends from uni, all gathered in the same chatroom. They kept me company. I remember us having our own ‘happy hour’, those of us at home with family and not at the pub with friends, as slowly our friends trickled back online in various states of inebriation.

The next few months remained tough but I look back on the next two terms as some of the happiest memories of my life. I still remember the touching concern of friends, even if it was ‘just’ over the internet. For me, they were there.

Now we are all grownups, it’s hard to get together, to chat into the early hours like we used to but I still count them all as very dear to me. I’d be there for them in a heartbeat and I know they’d do the same for me.