When my friend had her first baby, her best girl friend gave her a few weeks to settle into the new normal, then went round to see the new mother and baby. They had a few minutes of happy chitchat over coffee and of cooing over the beautifully cared-for infant, and then this friend looked up the new mum’s GP and booked her an appointment to get treatment for post-natal depression.

Only months later, once she was on the road to recovery, did the new mum think to ask her friend how she knew she needed help. “You were wearing a pastel jumper,” the friend said.

I think about this often, this pure and shining example of female friendship. How we do it so easily and well that we can look at a completely inoffensive item of clothing and know to call a doctor. Because my friend is not a pastel j

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