Yesterday I lunched in Hampstead. With one of my mates. From teenage to ice age, we binged, bonked and buccaneered together. But somewhere along the line our interests diverged. We just don't get each other any more. I'm in the limbo between mee-ja and mum. My days change according to demands and need. She's an IT wizard. She plans everything from her Cornflakes to where she'll be at five on Friday. She despairs that I'm gung-ho and opinionated. And thinks me a profligate hothead. I'm depressed by her piety and obsessive need for order. I see her life as a flow diagram. Yet I love her dearly. And she loves me. And there's the rub. We're like sisters. Which brings me to Christmas. For 15 years she and her man have come to us. This year, I want to end the arrangement. I suspect she does too. The problem is, how do we effect the break without umbrage or embarrassment? What makes it especially difficult is that my kids and my mum say I'm wrong. We are family, they say... After yesterday's lunch I met the posse for tea. "For goodness sake," one of them snapped, "It's not as if they'll be the only people there." True. Indeed, last year we increased numbers by three just an hour before carving the turkey. But... Oh God. I'm going to send her an email and see what she wants....