My friend Matt is ace.

Okay so sometimes he can be a bit of a lad and he'll drink ridiculous amounts of lager and when we're out he'll insist on running away without prior warning in search of a Maccy D, but I really have a lot of affection for him.

One of my friends bemoans the fact that we don't fancy each other, but to be honest, I like having him as a friend.

He's a tall, lovable oaf of a man who towers about 3 feet above me (I'm little!), with a deep Barry White-esque voice, proper man sideburns, and best of all, he is generous with his hugs.

Our hug-ritual has become a bit of an in joke with our crowd. On seeing me he'll stand with his arms out-stretched, hands moving back and forth in a beckoning gesture,

"Awwww, come 'ere PPQ" he'll say

I'm there straight away and next thing I know, I'm totally enveloped in a big bear hug.

Ahhhhhh.

His hugs are not reserved for special occasions. I get them whenever he sees me, and usually, as the night progresses and he gets more and more inebriated they increase in frequency.

But the other night, when we were in a trendy cocktail bar and I had just recounted some recent woes to him in my usual self-deprecating manner, sounding all brave and nonchalant, despite the fact that all the cool cool people were watching and despite the fact that he was still relatively sober, he used two of his hugs in a row...

"Awww, come 'ere PPQ. Lesshave a hug. It'll all be okay."

Sometimes, a good old hug is just what's needed.

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