But I’ve also seen Kate – rightly – call people on their bullshit. I’ve seen her be honest – in a fair and thoughtful way. I know she’s the right person to ask.

Before we start, I mull over my own insecurities like a bored office worker with a Japanese Zen garden. I worry that Kate will tell me I’m not a good listener. Or that she will say something about my (extremely) low tolerance for other people’s children.

Maybe she will bring up my fussy eating habits. My impatience. Sometimes I feel I’m not as thoughtful as Kate. The list of possible flaws is, quite possibly, endless.

And then, of course, I worry that one of the things Kate will bring up is this very conversation, and the awkward position I’ve put her in. I check with Kate several times before the big day – are you sure this is OK? – but she assures me it’s fine.

She is “thinking about what to say”, she says. She’s “making notes”. Oh good.

When we sit down, Kate, ever the swot, pulls out her phone, where a Notes page is filled with her musings. I can see “Dinner of Truth” at the top. She scrolls and scrolls before

she begins speaking. Oh my God. How many truths are there?

“The first thing is probably something you know,” she says. “You’re always on time. And it makes me nervous, because I think you’re going to judge me for being late.”

This is unexpected.

I want to say, “That’s not true!” but one of the rules of this exercise is that I’m not allowed to excuse or rationalise my behaviour, or go on the defensive. It’s Kate’s turn to talk. So I nod.

“OK,” I say. “Keep going.”

“OK,” says Kate. “You do so much. By the time I text you in the morning, you’ve already gone to the gym and made the kids’ breakfast and listened to a podcast and read the paper.”

“Do you feel like I judge you for that? And for the time thing?”

“No ...” she says, but I think she makes a great point: deep down, I know there is judgement there from my side. And Kate is bringing that up because she can feel it.

Having been a Type A know-it-all from an early age (birth, approximately), I get what Kate is saying. I do want to do it all. Partly that’s because I want to squeeze the most out of my days, and I dislike feeling idle. But there is something else happening here, too, that Kate has correctly tapped into: I want to present as a busy, capable person. That is important to me. But it can also manifest as judgement when other people don’t do as much as I do. That is unfair. And shitty behaviour.

We go on. There are other things – my desire for routine means I can be too rigid (completely). I quit drinking a few years ago and Kate feels like I could loosen up once in a while (probably true). She also makes the point that I drink Diet Coke every day. “You’d rather have Diet Coke than a negroni?” she asks, incredulously. (Again: completely. But equally: point taken.)

There are little things. Funny ones. “The way you leave my butter when we have dinner at my house ...” Kate starts. “It’s a massacre.” She is not the first person to bring this up with me. I apologise for digging into her Lurpak like I’m Indiana Jones searching for treasure, and promise to leave it smooth next time.

And then.

“Self-awareness is such an important component of personal growth,” says Pottenger. “Many of us never take the time to look inwards. A lot of us would be surprised to learn that the way we show up in the world doesn’t always align with the things we hold dear. Let’s say, for example, someone tells me that family is one of their core values. But this person is working 80 hours a week and travelling constantly, so they don’t have time for their family. That is living out of step with your values.”

Self-evaluation is an ever-evolving exercise, says Pottenger. It changes as our relationships develop, as our work shifts and as we age. “These are all works in progress,” says Pottenger. “It’s good to assess where you sit every so often, to check whether your behaviour matches the things you truly find to be important.” She suggests writing down as many values as you can think of – everything from the big ones like family, health, safety and freedom to more external ideas like caring for the planet – then drill down into the five or so that you believe are the most important. “Really think about how you live your day-to-day life,” says Pottenger. “If you say you value safety but find yourself going over the speed limit often, or believe financial freedom is important but have credit card debt, then you need to do some work.” This is the real Dinner of Truth: the one you have with yourself. “When you honour your own values, you contribute to the world in a much more meaningful way,” says Pottenger.

For Kate and I, our Dinner of Truth was not so much a watershed reveal of my flaws as it was a way to connect and think about our own values and how we can improve our (already incredibly beautiful) friendship. It was affirmation that our friendship could handle some home truths and an exploration of the way we feel about each other. Kate is right: I can be controlling. I can be judgemental. I can be inflexible. Sometimes those traits are beneficial – my routine gives me structure and helps me feel tethered – but there is certainly room for improvement. I could benefit from relaxing more and letting others take the lead. There is also perhaps no need to tell everyone all the things I’ve done before 10am – simply doing the things is enough.

After Kate finishes reading her notes, we have one of the best conversations we’ve ever had. We talk about money and how we approach it. We talk about parenting and what behaviours we want to model for our daughters. We talk about our partners and our parents. And when we say goodbye, we say I love you, and that is still very much our truth.