HOME TRUTHS

Chris came round last night and told me how to tidy up. I very much appreciated it.

In fact I had sort of asked him to do it. I need that after all.

"There's nothing to be ashamed about," he said, reassuringly. I said I knew, though I still felt a bit disappointed with myself for being so disorganised.

That feeling is at the heart of one of life's toughest tensions - when a home truth hits you and you have no time to respond. Thankfully, Chris is kind, considerate and knows me very well. As he left he said,

"Hey no worries, little bro. I know what it's like."

And he gave me a hug at the top of the stairs. I never had a brother growing up, so these moments - whether it's Paul, Chris, Winners, or whoever, are really important, and I would trust those men until the end of time to deliver them.

Part of the problem is that social media encourages us to present a version of ourselves that has it all together. Everyone is an expert, everyone is a journalist, everyone is a comedian, everyone is wise. And yet, we aren't are we? Not really.

I live in a mess. I struggle with my identity. I get jealous and petty and lonely and mad and afraid, and I'm refusing to believe that everyone I know solved all of those things for themselves before they logged on to fakebook or instagram or Twitter. And I'm a bit fed up of feeling as though I have to hide it all the time.

I don't have any witty sign-off or call back today. I'm just trying to be real, bobbing along in an ocean of online pretending.

And in the middle of that sea, I'm grateful for friends like Chris who will always tell it as they see it, won't ever pander to my ego and will always fight for the best of me, as I would for them.

After all, home truths will always point you home. And that's a great place to be.