A piece on the Guardian's Comment is free blog about online friendship - wittly titled 'A Friending Need' - attracted a particularly personal and undefended comment from 'Waltz':

'Internet friendships are odd things. I had two such friendships for a couple of years - both with interesting, intelligent people in other parts of the world. However, I found that maintaining these friendships was taking up too much time, because it involved the exchange of several emails a day and I just gradually lost interest in keeping up with that. So essentially I ditched the friendships. What particularly struck me was how emotionally easy this was - although on one level I'd got to "know" these people quite well, I simply didn't have anything like the feeling of connection to them that I do with my real-life friends, and I'd never ditch my real-life friends for so trivial a reason. So my conclusion was that there was this internet connection thingy that seemed like friendship in some ways but actually wasn't at all. For whatever reasons, there is a substantial qualitative difference between virtual and real-life friendships. Though I'm sure others feel differently about these things, which is fair enough - whatever works for you.'

Liz Pryor discusses her book 'What Did I Do Wrong? When Women Don't Tell Each Other the Friendship is Over' in The Detroit News:

'If you believe your friend has dumped you, Pryor says it's important to trust your intuition and follow your gut. 'This pulls at your stomach and hurts your heart,' Pryor says. 'And it's common for women to describe this feeling.'

'What really messes with you is when you ask 'Is something wrong? Are you mad at me? Is this over?' And she says, 'No.' Everything that you know in yourself to rely on is now in question. When she says 'No, nothing's wrong,' I'm standing here going 'I'm all messed up.' Then you find out weeks, months or years later that your instincts were right all along.''

A words from the philosophers (all men) on this vexed subject:

Friendship, even friendship that has come to a natural or unnatural end, is always a blessing. It is good to be in a position to remember it as that in the long run. Nietzsche called it 'star friendship' - you see its light but it no longer casts a shadow over you. So, when ending, aim to end with minimal, bleachable, shadows.

My friend, Urban Chick recently moved to a new city. Here's her very witty blog account of the desperate search for new friends in a new town:

'I make no secret of it: I'm a little lacking in the friends' department just now.

My nearest and dearest chums are still in The Big Smoke (although I am working on enticing at least one, if not two of them up north).

I mentioned to one of these friends, whilst we were chatting online the other day, my concern that there was an air of desperation about my interactions with other human beings just now.

J: But you don't do desperate! UC: It's sweet of you to say so, but I fancy I sounded on the psychopathic side of eager in the note I wrote to A (mutual ex-schoolmate) last week. J: I find that hard to believe...what did you say? UC: Um, hi and it was sooooooooooo great to see you the other day. Perhaps we can have lunch sometime soon, with the kids. Or without the kids (if you prefer!). Or maybe dinner. (I can do most weekday evenings!) Or maybe just coffee if you're busy. And hey! Maybe you can introduce me to that friend of yours who you said lived in my street? But anyway, call me sometime or email me or feel free to drop by my house anytime or whatever! J: Ah, I see what you mean...

Y'see, every encounter with another human being has become A Potential Lead-In To A New Friendship.

My internal monologue is usually something like this: yes, yes, you're nice. We appear to have something in common (you're buying Grazia magazine in my local newsagent's too, frinstance). You seem pleasant enough. Pleasant enough, if a little socially inept. But that's okay. Very often the pleasant but socially inept have friends who are pleasant and socially ept, so if we hang out a few more times, perhaps I will end up meeting some of your pleasant and socially ept friends who might, in time, become my friends. (And, if I'm lucky, they too will be the sort of people who buy Grazia magazine only very very occasionally, and only when no-one they know is looking, in which circumstance they would reach for a copy of the New Statesman - just like me.)

I mean, you know things have come to a pretty pass when you find yourself starting up a conversation with the guy in front of you in a queue in the local supermarket with the line: "Goodness, are those FLYING ANTS out there?! 'Cause they're biting me to buggery!"

So, if anyone knows anyone who knows ANYONE who might care to be my newbestfriend in the 'Burgh, then lemme know.'

Any suggestions, I am sure would be grateful received!

This letter was in The Times:

We celebrated my husband’s 50th birthday with a party. We had 20 house guests over the four days; others in B&B. One couple asked to camp in the garden and then joined us for every meal but didn’t lift a finger to help, or bring a present. He works in the wine trade and drank plenty but brought not a drop. They are not short of money. Do we take it lying down?

The newspaper's agony uncle replied basically saying that friendship is not a balance sheet, hospitality is in the giving, and they should deal with it - if they like them, keep them; if not, then dump them.

However, the question of hospitality is complex. Derrida, the famous French philosopher, understood this. Being hospitable is to say, 'Make yourself at home!'. But if someone did that, literally, say by moving the furniture around, throwing out a couple of house plants, and helping themselves to the best from your cellar, then they would have overstepped the mark.

In other words, hospitality depends upon an unspoken understanding: if I say, 'Make yourself at home', I say it literally, to make you feel welcome, but I don't mean it literally - and that is what you have to understand for your part.

So those guests who don't lift a finger are the ones that don't get it. The trouble is you can't say much to them, since hospitality must be unspoken to work. Well, now is about the time of year when people review the Christmas card list...

An agony letter is in the Guardian today (slightly edited here):

''I have kept in touch with a friend from university since graduation seven years ago, but our relationship is waning. He's always been self-centred, but on holiday last year, he was unbearable. He went to bed early when everyone else wanted to go out and talked constantly about his depression and other ailments.

However, when his partner left him recently, he came to visit me. I asked him questions and listened to his problems. He made little conversation, and refused to come out at night. Most irksomely, he barely gave a flicker of interest when I talked about my life.

I feel this relationship has run its course, but have no idea how to end it. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but can't face the idea of another weekend with a sulky child who gives nothing back.''

The difference with this agony column is that the paper publishes readers' replies. Here's a snapshot of the full replies:

"It is frustrating to try to relate to a friend suffering in this way, but knowing first-hand how debilitating depression can be helps me understand."

"Many would see ongoing support in difficult times as a sign of true friendship."

"There is a helpful book called How You Can Survive When They're Depressed by Anne Sheffield, which gives sound guidance for people in your situation."

"There is no reason for you to hide from your friend how his illness affects you; being aware of how our moods affect others is a key factor in recovering from depression, and I think he may be grateful for your honesty."

"It would almost certainly be best - healthy, even - if you dumped your friend and left him to sort out his depression without you."

For myself, I remember when for about a year I was depressed, though it was as much self-indulgent as clinical. I was in a job that though very worthy left me feeling trapped and lonely. And I would moan on about it to whoever would listen (and not listen much in return).

Then, one afternoon, lying on the couch of a friend going over my problems again, she suddenly said, 'Leave!'. I can hear her saying it to this day. It was better than a bolt of ECT. I was challenged and six months later I was gone from the job. She is a friend to this day.

So to this writer, I'd say forget the pop-psych imperatives to listen and be supportive. They only send you on a guilt trip. Say what you think! It might even change a life.

S.F. of Vienna writes: I feel that my adult life has been marked by a series of broken friendships. I have separated or broken with Breuer, Jung, Adler, Rank, Ferenczi, Stekel amongst others. I had high hopes for all these individuals that led to disappointments. There is a pattern here. Why?

Agony Uncle: It seems, S.F., that in each case you are saying: 'You have not amounted to what I'd hoped.' And that you put them in the position of saying: 'Father, can't you see I've come to something?'. Unbeknowst to yourself, you have taken on a role of a disappointed father and are re-enacting it over and over again. You long for male friendship; you long for colleagueship; but you are fated never to find it.

With thanks to Jonathan Lear's excellent Freud, and S.F.'s own efforts to know himself in The Interpretation of Dreams.

H in London writes: Good friends of my partner and I have a child, like we do. But they allow their daughter to eat sweets whereas we do not. It is so bad for their teeth and I don't want ours to grow up with a sweet tooth. It has got to the point that I almost don't want them playing together - which is stupid but it is so hard to say anything. What can I do?

Agony Uncle: You are right to be cautious. Criticising a friend's parenting, no matter how gently, is treacherous terrain - by which I mean it feels like a betrayal when you are on the receiving end. The nub of the problem, I suspect, is that parenting is a hugely personal thing. It's about that most intense of relationships; it's about what you feel is valuable and proper in life; it's about all the time, energy and worry that you invest in the process. So, the only friend who can moderately easily challenge the way someone does their parenting is the friend who is as peculiarly committed to that child - namely the partner (and even then rows and irritation can ensue). Probably the best advice is to play it indirectly: raise the subject of what you feed your child as a matter for discussion not critique. Genuinely seek the advice and opinion of your friend about other matters. And then suggest that you are anxious not about the issue with the sweets but about the effects of a sugary diet in general... and keep your fingers crossed!