The Friendship Fund
As the constraints of modern adult life tighten, friendships are easy to neglect. But a bit of effort and commitment — and a little cash, too — can go a long way.
There is something quite frightening about how life seems to go from no responsibility and spending every day with your friends to having a career, mortgage and child within the space of around two weeks. Before you know it, conversations go from M-CAT to mortgage rates, from fingering to wedding favours, and fart jokes to your child’s bowel movements.
They say life comes at you fast, and as we all seek sanctuary and comfort in the stability and mundanity of the home, one of the biggest victims of adulthood is friendship. Compare how many friends and social engagements you had when you were 18 to now, in your mid 30s, when even a meetup for a coffee must be organised several months in advance. ‘Sorry,’ you say, ‘can’t do August due to children’s birthday parties, and September looks pretty hectic with nativity prep.’
Friendship groups are life’s unofficial survival kit. Good friends are the people who’ll hype you up when you’re winning, drag you out for chips when life falls apart, and somehow convince you that staying up until 2 am talking nonsense is a brilliant idea. Being part of a group gives us a sense of belonging, like having our own little team in the chaos of everyday life. Whether it’s school friends, work mates, or the people you only see once a month but instantly fall back into laughter with, strong friendships remind us that we’re not doing life alone. They’re also surprisingly good for us. Friends help us handle stress, build confidence, and learn important skills like communication, loyalty, and how to apologise after ‘borrowing’ someone’s hoodie for six months. Studies even show that strong friendships can improve mental and physical health, which means your weekly coffee catch-up is practically a wellness programme.
And yet somehow friendship groups can quickly become a second-tier concern for many adults. In those return-to-life years after Covid, whenever my own friend group tried to organise an event, people would drop out in the days before. Some couldn’t afford it – baby Kian’s addiction to flaky pastry pulling on the purse strings. Others could never commit to a date, booked up already, or due to an outright fear of their spouse developing a personality and saying ‘no’. So an idea was born. In a modern world littered with distractions, when even your toaster comes with an ad-free monthly plan, could a subscription model of friendship be the answer?
The pitch was simple: the Friendly Annual Meetup. The FAM. A bank account was arranged, managed by the one friend who everyone deemed to be financially responsible purely because they were an accountant, and each month each member would transfer £25 to it. Some of the group had their mind blown by the concept of a Standing Order, which gives you huge faith in their current savings situation. But the FAM Account is a holy pot of money that is to be used for one big event for the group each year – including travel, accommodation, and alcohol. The bare minimum commitment was one day a year – is that really too much to ask?
We’re a group of men. And, as men, we might struggle to share problems that something like the FAM can help with – our mental health. Mental health issues among men in the UK are a major concern, and many men still struggle to speak openly about how they feel. Traditional ideas around masculinity often encourage men to ‘stay strong’, ‘man up’, or ‘deal with it’ alone, which can make it harder to ask for help when they are anxious, depressed, or overwhelmed. As a result, many men suffer in silence, hiding stress behind humour, work, or the classic British response of ‘I’m fine, mate.’ Charities and health organisations have repeatedly highlighted that men are far less likely to seek mental health support, despite suicide remaining one of the leading causes of death among younger men in the UK for the last 20 years. Recent reports have also shown rising loneliness, stress, and social isolation among men, particularly as modern life becomes more disconnected. Thankfully, attitudes are slowly changing, and more conversations around male mental health are encouraging men to open up, check in on friends, and realise that asking for help is a sign of strength, not weakness.
Since the launch of the FAM, we’ve enjoyed sleepovers in country houses, bottomless brunches in cities near and far, day-long games of The Traitors, pub crawls along metros and railways across the nation. Obviously there’s more than a drop of alcohol, but the events centre on a prolonged period of time together, where conversations can go beyond surface level, fun can be had, and friendships can be rebounded.
We have created a ritual and a recurring institution. A miniature civic structure. A portable third place. The money matters so much less than the obligation. The contribution formalises our commitment to each other, to enable continuity and give permanence to our social life. We have created an institution made entirely out of intention.
And this is why so many friendships fail, because they rely on spontaneity when everyone is busy, and social maintenance becomes invisible labour. Instead, we have automated the process and created a cadence that builds collective anticipation. It’s not just the event itself, it’s the planning, the build-up, the frequently asked questions that have been answered 600 times already. Much like unions, churches and co-operatives, we are pooling resources in order to sustain our belonging. Am I comparing the FAM to the Catholic Church? Potentially.
Maybe we need this intentional design for friendship. Community now requires architectural construction and the once informal life now needs formal support. Previous generations inherited social infrastructure. Ours may need to build it anew. ⚭
Jon DellMore 2G4
