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We were 18 when we met in the orientation talk on day one of our art foundation year; Charlie was wearing leopard print tights, Frankie had home-dyed burgundy hair. Call it kismet, or call it alphabetical grouping - either way, we were pals from the first. Now we’re 31 - but somehow we’ve never managed to synchronise anything (apart from periods). When one finds her feet in a job, the other has hers swept from beneath her; when one’s coupled, the other’s bouncing between bad dates.

In our new weekly newsletter, we’ll be talking about everything from love and money to frocks and spots from two very different points of view. We might never be on the same page, but at least we’ve always got a wingwoman...