There are blessed few kids’ TV programmes I can endure. Most of them are arse-tripe. I’m sure kids LOVE them, but oh my life, are they arse-tripe. I do, however, value a special, golden few. They are less than arse-tripe. They are maybe guff-waft. Or ear-cheese. Y’know, something not so bad.

One of these programmes is Charlie and Lola. You know it. The one about the boy, Charlie, and his little sister, Lola. You’re already singing the theme tune in your brains, aren’t you? Sorry about that. But I really like this programme. The animation makes me go all dribbly, and in a good way. It appeals to my artistic side, and the side of me that hankers after dodgy fabric patterns. Sure, the characters are faintly annoying but there’s a hint of surreality and I have been known to snigger out loud (SOL?) on occasion at some of the ridiculousness. Also, that there theme music is a bit 1970s and hideously catchy, innit. Now you’re HUMMING it. You’re so suggestible.

But ANYWAY, the reason I mention it is cos Lola has an imaginary friend called Soren Lorenson. If you click the link I’ve just inserted you go through to his Facebook page. He has more friends than me. A fictional, imaginary person. THAT’S HOW FARKING POPULAR HE IS. Bastard.

I would like to confess that I, too, had imaginary friends when I was growing up. Yes – plural. Friends.

The BBC website for Charlie and Lola describes Soren Lorenson as Lola’s ‘confidante, her security blanket’ and ‘sometimes… Lola’s true voice’.

My imaginary friends were largely useless, being imaginary. There was one called Sally. She was the naughty one. And one called Mary. She was the good one. I s’pose you could say they were my confidantes. I had a variety of brothers in my childhood house and there would be NO WAY I’d confide in them, cos boys have fleas, innit. But my imaginary girl BFFs were always there for me. I remember Sally had copper hair and a brown checked dress. Mary was blonde with a blue dress (imaginative of me, must be that one Sunday school class I went to, FFS). They usually manifested themselves just behind me, and they were faded, like old photographs. I don’t think they had ‘voices’ as such. I certainly don’t think they were my ‘true voice’. Unless they harped on about Care Bears, or Enid Blyton. Which was mostly what I was obsessed with.

Why do people have imaginary friends? I wasn’t lacking in real-life ones. Sure, I was living in a mostly male household but I could dress any willing siblings up in my clothes and pretend they were a sister, and they were FINE WITH THAT (she says, laughing evilly). But I seem to remember being out and about and busy and doing stuff with people, a lot. A farking fine childhood, by any account. No complaints here.

But I could really do with a Sally or a Mary right now. Occasionally I get quite lonely, and if my (very gorgeous and super) real-life mates are unavailable then I tend to wander the park or haunt the soft-play café like a miserable wraith. If Sally or Mary were there, then they could keep an eye on Moo while I grab a cup of tea, or have a go on the swings, yeah? That would be OK, wouldn’t it?

No? Oh right. Cos they’re not real, I get you.

So did you? Have pretend friends? And why do you think that was?