Death might bring people together, but disease sends them running.
I'm not on Facebook either (I didn't have imaginary friends as a child; there doesn't seem to be much point in starting now). Consequently, I have had to turn to my trusty companion – the telly – when in need of support.
Over the past couple of months I have had several famous female acquaintances drop by. They're usually brief affairs. Not much talking.
Every now and then, someone will take the aggressively upbeat approach, as though a rictus grin alone will drag me from the doldrums:
I'm sure it's exhausting for both of us.
Generally speaking, however, they know what to do: strike a series of serious poses, from bewilderment to mild concern to existential woe. Whatever it takes to make me feel like they really care. They understand.
They're there for me:
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