There’s never an easy way to dump a friend

I’ve never been good at break-ups. I’ve been the dumper twice, and on both occasions I did it very sloppily by text. Then went back on my decision out of guilt. Then doubled down on the dumping like a complete sociopath. It’s even harder on the rare occasion I find myself gearing up to dump a platonic friend. Friendships fizzle and fluctuate all the time but now the time has come to cut my losses with a few and I have no clue how to do it without leaving destruction in my wake.

The beauty of friendships is how flexible they are, compared to romantic relationships. You generally have to accept your partner as a full package, warts and all, but with friends you can draw out the best bits and distribute your time accordingly. This friend is the best to party with, that one perfect for binge-watching Selling Sunset with, then there’s the one (max, two) who knows where the bodies are buried. To decide you no longer want anything to do with a friend then, is especially brutal since you could just as easily relegate them to obligatory twice-yearly coffee catch-up status. I’ve fallen out with toxic people dramatically to the point of no return and honestly those friendships are the easiest to break. It’s the inoffensive friend I have trouble breaking up with; the one who hasn’t actually done anything wrong, yet you walk away from every interaction feeling drained and uninspired. Maybe you met them at a pivotal time in your life like uni or your first real job, but now you’ve slowly run out of things to talk about. They have a kid and a mortgage. You have a TikTok account and a love/hate relationship with Klarna. You had loads in common once upon a time, now you find yourself preparing an excuse to duck out early, before you’ve even arrived at the pub.

For my latest friend break-up, I decided to seek advice from the people in my life I haven’t (yet) tired of. Just tell it to her straight, says a long-suffering uni friend. Better to be upfront than let it drag on. If you’re going to do that, warns my boyfriend, be very careful about not wording it in a way that implies the bond can be fixed. If the friendship can be salvaged by your pal not mentioning her ex every five minutes for example, say that. But if you’re truly over it, better to stick to the vagueness of ‘our lives are going in different directions.’ Block her, insists one cutthroat friend. Especially if you have no mutual friends and don’t run the risk of an awkward run-in at a party. Too brutal, counters the group softy. Phase her out by gradually getting worse at responding to messages under the pretense of being busy, then slowly watch her lose interest.

The truth is, someone always ends up with hurt feelings no matter how delicately it’s done, but that unfortunately is life. I’ve been on the receiving end of friend dumpings myself. One minute you’re sharing toilet cubicles on nights out, the next you’re watching their wedding play out on Insta rather than in person. It’s rough. But life is short and the days are long, so you may as well spend them with people whose company you actually enjoy.

Switch out the holiday romcom for the holiday horror

Keira Knightley’s latest film Silent Night has just been released and it’s been described as a Christmas black comedy/horror concoction. I’ve seen the trailer and I can’t promise I’ll see it but it did get me thinking: why are we so obsessed with Christmas romcoms when the horror genre is so much more fitting for the festive season. Strip back the cockle-warming narrative we’re supposed to lean into and you’ll see how horrifying Christmas actually is. Spending it with your in-laws? Drop me out. The only thing that would have made the film Get Out scarier would be if it were set during the holidays. The premise of Santa Claus being this strange bearded man who know where every child in the world lives and breaks into their homes every year? Come on, the script writes itself. And have you heard Christmas carols? Listen to Silent Night or Carol of the Bells properly and tell me they don’t sound cursed. If a group of carol singers rocked up at my door singing these, I’d call the police. So filmmakers: next time you feel tempted to make Home Alone 7 or a carbon copy of Love Actually, might I suggest shaking it up with a malevolent spirit or two?