When we need words the most – to comfort and console – they often fail us. Genuine concern can become weakened by a trite cliché; a witty quip can deepen a black mood rather than lighten one; direct advice can wound an already fragile ego.

A friend was recently suffering the loss of her cat. ‘I feel worse than when my ex died,’ she said, bewildered. ‘Am I going insane?’
‘Going? It’s far too late for that,’ I said, trying (but probably failing miserably) to cheer her up.
‘And I only thought I loved my ex after he died,’ she continued.
‘It’s easier to love a dead person.’

Another friend got the tone just right when I confided my homesickness, ‘It’s a toughie for sure. I’ll spare you the hackneyed advice. Love versus life – why can’t life be straightforward, hey!’

During dinner recently, a friend said that she really wanted to meet someone. The other friend was trying his best, but ‘It’ll happen when you least expect it,’ reminded me of when I was in a similar situation. My single friend and I have made a pact: I will help her find a man; she’ll help me find a job.

Hot Danish also offered his support. ‘I could put a message on LinkedIn and Facebook,’ he suggested. But then added, ‘I could offer €500 to anyone who can get you a job.’ His intentions were right; he was thinking aloud of a way to grab people’s attention. As we climbed the stairs to our flat I stuck my finger up at him behind his back and immediately felt better.