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I seek out wisdom from others regarding managing life’s midpoint hurdles, for example existential reckonings, fading relevance, growing a neck like a Salvador Dalí clock and a newfound passion for A Place in the Sun. Lately, I came across his remarks regarding his fiftieth birthday via a discussion: “Trimming unnecessary clutter is key to enjoying your later years,” he noted. “Just be with lovely people. I’m avoiding negative people – ‘mood hoovers’ – and getting better at saying no.”

My first thought was: isn’t there a tension about evading pessimists and honing one’s rejection skills? Might that suggest he must escape his own nature? I get it – such remarks define us negative types, and yes, I’m one of them. Although in our community we actually prefer the expression “energy vampire”. Refrain from using “downer” or “spoil-sport” – these comparisons to everyday gear are insulting; we possess sentiments (though often pessimistic). In a bind, I might tolerate “melancholy luxury blanket”.

It’s possible you’re also a member. Are you less the life and soul of the party and more its accountant or undertaker? Does your thorough reply to casual greetings make people step back nervously? Do you greet “fun” activity suggestions with an expression that makes you look like you’ve swallowed a slug? Do you see yourself in gloomy figures; has a spiritual reader mentioned your vibe is murky?

If this describes you, you’re in our ranks, and that’s acceptable. Despite a whole self-help-inspired trend urging people to get rid of friends who “drain” them, I’d argue we offer real value. I reckon a mood hoover would have said something discouraging – or at least made a slug-swallowing face – when Jamie described his plan to write a kids’ book with an Australian First Nation main character without consulting Indigenous communities, which could have prevented a whole lot of problems, upset and offence. You don’t get that sort of service from “lovely people”.