Friends Like These: My Worldwide Quest to Find My Best Childhood Friends, Knock on Their Doors, and Ask Them to Come Out and Play by Danny Wallace

seeing this stuff. Touched that I’d found someone who took an interest in things. I thought about
     showing her the address book, and telling her about how it’d made me think about life, and growing up, and about whether the
     friends in the book were feeling the same way I was… but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I didn’t want her to think
     that lawnmowers and display cushions and brushed aluminum frames were making me worry about what I was becoming. And I didn’t
     get the chance, anyway, because moments later she said, “So… shall we have a woman of wine?”
    “A
woman
of wine?”
    “Yeah. A ‘glass’ of wine. I’m just trying that manly thing out.”
    “I’m not sure that’s how it works. You can’t just call everything a woman. It’s more subtle than that. It’s a grammar honed
     over generations of sexist tradesmen. But yes, let’s have a woman of wine…”
    We were on our second woman and Lizzie was telling me about her day.
    “The weirdest thing is, the people on the show, they’re not even allowed to tell their friends,” she said. “Their
friends!
Imagine going into that house and not being allowed to tell your friends. And then when these people come out, they’ll be
     like this completely different person. What must
that
be like?”
    “I dunno,” I said, shaking my head and finishing my glass. “It’s weird.”
    “Months must seem like
years
in there,” she said. “I wouldn’t do it. Not for all the tea in China.”
    “Is that the prize this year? How does China feel about that?”
    “They’re very angry,” she said.
    We smiled. And then she stifled a yawn.
    “You go to bed,” I said.
    “Yeah. I have to be in early. Are you coming?”
    “In a bit.”
    Lizzie got up from the sofa and rubbed her eyes.
    “You know,” she said, “I’m a little worried about you.”
    I made a confused face.
    “Will you be okay?” she said.
    I nodded, as confidently as I could.
    “Yeah,” she said, moving away. “I know you will. You’ll find
some
way to amuse yourself.”
    I smiled.
    “See some mates,” she said, clicking the door shut.
    And I smiled again. But this time, it seemed sad.
    I listened to her walk down the stairs, and stared at the ceiling while she brushed her teeth, thinking about the old days.
    I flicked through the address book one last time, and noticed that on one of the pages near the back, I’d written something
     in an excited, blue scrawl…
    Friends Forever!!!
    And then I closed my eyes.
    A couple of hours later and I was asleep on the sofa. Something woke me up. I squinted, and then looked at the clock. It was
     half past midnight. And then, it happened again.
    Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
    My pocket was vibrating.
    A message.
    Danny! Neil here! Blimey! Long time no see! I got a missed call from you! Would call but thought you might be asleep. Listen—it’s
     my thirtieth on Monday—would be great to see you after so long!

CHAPTER FOUR
IN WHICH WE LEARN THAT GROWING UP IS LESS WORRYING WHEN YOU REALIZE THAT
EVERYONE’S
DOING IT…

    I was slightly annoyed as I stepped off the bus at Primrose Hill and tried to find the pub. Not because it was a balmy summer’s
     night and I was already quite sweaty. Not because I’d had to stand most of the way on a crowded bus while a man kept hitting
     me in the face with his paper and standing on my feet. But because my ultimate nemesis, the Bald Assassin, had once more managed
     to best me, as I hid behind a small garden wall, my sights trained upon the only door he could
possibly
have been hiding behind. I had laughed the laugh of the finally victorious. I felt merciless to his plight. I had a full
     complement of grenades, a sniper scope, machine gun, three smoke bombs, a pistol and the best position possible. I had every
     exit covered and all I needed to do was wait. And yet moments later he’d managed to somehow sneak up behind me and slap me
     on the back of the head. To make matters worse, he’d run away