Why do we find it so hard to make friends when we are adults?

"Asking some random guy out on a date is easy. Or relatively so. But trying to make a new friend as an adult is perhaps the most terrifying thing"

I recently moved country. I was thus faced with the most daunting and yet underrated fear of adulthood (not the organising of a decade worth of detritus, though that’s up there). No, I had to make friends again. Cue horror music. A million miles away from everyone I loved, I was starting from scratch again: feeling sick and vulnerable and awkward and ugly in ways I haven’t felt since I was an agonised and self-conscious teenager.

I was confronted by weekends again – that gaping abyss of time that you are expected to fill with rigorous socialising that proves how lovable – how interesting! – you are. Friday night drinks, Saturday morning brunches, Sunday afternoon hikes. Worse still, I then had to flounder through Monday – and even Tuesday – watercooler chat, when eager colleagues would demand envy-inducing anecdotes detailing my sociability. Is there anything worse than someone – who you are equally trying to befriend and convince of your popularity – asking the dreaded: ‘so what did you do this weekend? And with whom?’ My thoughts exactly: with WHOM?