How to make friends with bribery

As a child I wasn't so much socially-inept as socially-incapable, so I took the approach of bribing friends to spend time with me. With a barbie in one hand and a Famous Five book in the other, I was determined to make people like me.

When I first met my best friend, it was at Sunday school. Her mum (RIP) and my dad (RIP) were already really good friends as they went to the drama club and were in plays together, and as we were in the same year at school, it was suggested that we might want to spend time together.

The first time I saw my friend  at Sunday school, she was sitting opposite me peering at me warily. I knew instantly that I had to win her round - it was just one of those things I knew in life, like that Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was worth waking up early for, and Disney Princess barbies were the only acceptable Christmas gift. I tried a smile, but she didn't smile back. I tried staring at her in a friendly way, but it looked less friendly than intimidating. I tried talking to her, but instead of starting a long and meaningful conversation, my jabbering caused a visible physical withdrawal and a 'hmmmm'. This would not do.

As a child, I was pretty intense. My role model was Anne Of Green Gables, and I wanted a 'bosom buddy' like Diana Gilbert to talk about boys and play barbies with, but the problem was I was just too strange to attract the friendship of the girls at my school. In my lunch hour I talked to walls and imagined they were wizards, or tried to convince a playground full of unwilling children to play imaginary games with me where I was the only one who could visualise or explain what was going on. Needless to say, I didn't have much success, and the only person who talked to me was the dinner lady.

My mum was concerned that I would grow up to be one of those people that talked to themselves, or walls. It was time to get someone to hang out with me, either by choice or by cajoling.

The bargaining chip

I had a series of books that were really popular at the time, called The Famous Five. Rumour had it that my future best friend really wanted to read them, and my dad had mentioned to her mum that I had them. One day after church, my dad approached me and asked me if I would lend my books to the daughter of his friend from drama club. This was my way in.

'No.' I said.
'What?' My dad was surprised, I wasn't normally an ungenerous child.
'She can ask me herself, if she wants them.'

I stuck to my guns, and the following Sunday I arrived at church hoping she'd approach me and ask to borrow them. It took a couple of weeks, but eventually she shuffled up to me and muttered something about borrowing my book.

'Come round to my house next Saturday and you can borrow it.' I said.

The next Saturday my future BFF came round to my house and spent a good few hours playing barbies with me. We constructed an elaborate storyline where the Take That Robbie Williams barbie doll was an evil butler killing off the other barbies. I let her leave with my book. The rest is history.

And the morale of the story is... No matter how weird you are, there's someone out there who will be happy to share your weirdness, after you convince them that you're not completely crazy.