I'm in a club, in close proximity to a vodka luge, apparently having such a nice time that I feel compelled to demonstrate my "running man" moves to a room full of 20-year-olds, on a school night... This isn't like me.
I'm more of a Radio 4-and-a-slice-of-Battenberg type of girl, yet here I am, dancing, drinking, and, inevitably, ending up in the ladies' loos with two women who were strangers 24 hours ago, applying lipstick and trying not to suffocate in a cloud of Elnett.
Hours later, tired and tipsy, my new friends and I make our way outside. Somewhere just past the kebab shop, we break into a drunken sing-song - all in the name of "research". Ish. This is the art of making new friends... as a grown-up.
Having relocated from London to rural Denmark in 2013 for my husband's job, I thought I knew all about starting over in friendship. I understood that it was a delicate social dance, with texting and WhatsApp and Facebook, and having to do things you may not want to - like the Tupperware party I felt obliged to attend when I first moved.
I was lonely, far from home, and I'd gone from having lots of friends but no time to see them, to a place where I had all the time in the world and no one to spend it with.
Weekends stretched out forever with no plans to fill them, and despite being as proactive as a socially awkward Brit could bear, I faced setbacks at every turn.
There was the woman with the great hair, who I became convinced was key to cracking the social shell of my newly adopted homeland. She was "cool", worked in a similar industry and reminded me of my friends from home, so I thought we'd be friends.
But she took a week to respond to my friend request on Facebook and when I suggested meeting at a local café, she said "no". I went anyway, just to get out of the house, and found her already there with other people.
Three months later, I thought I'd "arrived" when she invited me on a girls' weekend. I accepted then found out I was only asked because there'd been a dropout and she'd have lost the deposit on the hotel room otherwise. Once the sting of rejection had subsided, I conceded defeat and turned my attentions elsewhere.
After a year of making an effort, even on days when I felt like curling up in the foetal position, I formed a tight-knit gang of new friends. But then the prospect of moving again loomed and I realised I was still anxious about forming new bonds.
So this time I sought help. I began researching techniques for becoming more resilient and adapting to change while writing a new book, and got in touch with Irene S Levine, psychologist and professor of psychiatry at the NYU School of Medicine.
Levine specialises in the science of friendship, so I asked her why making friends as a grown-up can feel so daunting. "It's because the 'rules' of friendship are so vague," she told me. "It's easy making friends when we're children. Five-year-olds can just say, 'Do you like swings? I like swings! Let's be friends!' For adults, it's trickier."
But friendships are important for our health and well-being. "Having close friends has been proven to reduce stress and anxiety, decrease your risk of depression, promote a sense of belonging and lower the heart rate, as well as reducing cholesterol and decreasing blood pressure," says Levine.
"But what many people don't realise, is that contrary to the myths perpetuated by films and TV shows (hello, Friends), most friendships - even good ones - don't last forever."
Oxford University psychologist Robin Dunbar found that we all need a set number of friends - five close friends, 15 good ones, and up to a 150 in our outer circle. "Each of these layers corresponds to a particular level of emotional closeness and to the frequency of contact: the limits on the layers are at least once a week, once a month, about once a year," says Dunbar.
"This may be because creating bonds of a given emotional intensity requires the investment of a specific amount of time. Drop below that, and the person slips quickly into another layer in terms of emotional closeness."
And while we may think we can keep up with loved ones online, Skype and SMS can't replicate the benefits of meeting up in person.
But with more of us forced to relocate for work, as well as changes in circumstance or life stage, many of us are missing out on time with friends. And making new ones can be tough.
"I've been surprised by how hard I'm finding it," says Kim, a mother of two. "I've been trying to start conversations with the mums at my daughter's preschool, but it's clear that they aren't interested in new friends. It makes me feel like I'm at school again."
Christina, who recently moved out of London, agrees. "I had a lot of failed attempts at chatting to new people, as well as panicking and swapping phone numbers with random women I never called because I was too chicken. I found the whole experience exhausting," she says.
Dr Steven Howell, psychology professor at Keystone College, Pennsylvania, studied the science of establishing new friendships, and concluded that a night out is the best place to start.
"Within half an hour, my cheeks ached with laughter." Photo / Getty
Exchanging confidences and taking risks together is apparently essential and a "bonding analysis" study found that a drinking session is an excellent way to facilitate these.
Researchers found that those who drank together and tackled a crisis together, even something small like how to get home at the end of the night, were more likely to become close than people who didn't drink or share dramas.
Ever a slave to science, I set out to road- test Dr Howell's theory. But because I'm a) British and b) a wuss, I wanted an extra confidence boost first. An idle scroll through my Twitter feed led me to Charna Halpern, an improvisation comedy expert who runs iO Improv theatre in Chicago, where alumni include Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.
Halpern agreed to give me a crash course in a theory of improvisation to help me on my quest to turn strangers into friends.
'"Yes, and...' is really the philosophy of improv," Halpern explained. "The basic idea is about saying 'yes' to each other; truly listening, staying in the moment and then offering something more to progress the conversation - which means it also works with making friends.
"Being supportive is key," she added, "so you make the people around you more confident and get everyone's best side by treating them with respect. Tina [Fey] and Amy [Poehler] were naturals from the start and they've used the technique in other areas."
So can a typically-shy-in-new-social- situations layperson master the art of 'yes, and...'? "Absolutely, everyone can," Halpern assured me. "And everyone should. Great things happen when you say 'yes, and...' If you're shy, it helps you focus on the other person. If you're naturally confident, it improves empathy - and someone who empathises makes a good friend."
Inspired, I resolved to put "yes, and..." to the test. I met a girl who was new in town and suggested going out. She agreed, then in the spirit of "yes, and..." a drink turned into dinner plans with a third woman.
Because I was following a proven technique, the encounter felt easier somehow. Practising "yes, and..." meant the conversation flowed effortlessly and within half an hour, my cheeks ached with laughter. After dessert, potential-new-friend #1 suggested another drink. "Yes! And there's a new bar across town..." the words slipped out before I could over think them.
"The one next to the club?" potential-new-friend #2 asked innocently. "Yes, and we could go there after!" I found myself saying. This was pure madness, but once I'd said it, there was no turning back. So we paid up and went "out out".
I made it home just before dawn, aware that I was going to feel terrible when the alarm (my toddler) went off. But it was worth it, I told myself: I've embraced my inner Tina Fey - and she's a blast!
Six months on, I'm delighted to report that my new friendships are lasting ones. The kind you can rely on for moral support and gin after a terrible day; who'll bring over Danish pastries when you're ill; friends you want to celebrate life's highs and lows with. In other words: keepers.
