Andy Richardson: A friend in need is one to be there for

There are times when it might be nice to swap the uncertainties of the daily grind for life in La La Column Land. Reality would never intrude.

There would be no grey days nor winds of change. The humour would always be as sharp as a newly-opened Gillette GII, the consequences would never be sorrowful and the happy-ever-after ending would be more life-affirming and joyous than the smile on a newborn's face when it's time for mother's milk.

Sometime last year, it was an unremarkable, blue-sky day when the storm clouds rolled in on my perfectly-manicured life. I'd worked hard for some years – no, for a lifetime – to build a home and family in which all were safe and happy. And I was too immersed in the daily round of commitments, responsibilities and trying to do the right thing to notice that Hurricane Katrina was moving towards me. I was New Orleans and we were locked in a dance of destruction. The levees were about to break.

The storm wreaked havoc in a memorably traumatic way.

And then, just when I thought I might be able to rebuild the pile of rubble and sticks that my life had been reduced to, along came Hurricane Katrina's evil elder sister to show how much harder she was than her inexperienced sibling. Damn those tropical depressions and their elemental might.

To say my life faced a clean-up operation would be an understatement akin to describing the millions of residents of Mumbai's Dharavi Slum as needing more elbow room.

The pillars of my life had been smashed like walnuts beneath a sledge hammer; they'd been mangled like a Ford Sierra beneath the diverging metal walls of a scrap yard's crusher. Only two aspects of my life remained unchanged; the rest was wiped out like flats beneath a wrecking ball.

To describe the experience as humbling would be to describe lobsters as having a tough exterior or giraffes as being a bit 'necky'. But the seeds of hope grow in the garden of despair.

And remarkably, there were silver linings. The best was discovering friendships I didn't know I had. Eight or 10 people put my life back together with the diligence of prisoners building a replica Titanic with matchsticks.

My best friend isn't a walnut that's felt the full force of a sledgehammer. But she's been through change that has left her uncertain and unsettled.

Happily, I can write about her experience without fear of her ever knowing. She lives somewhere near a forest in Rural Britannia and is a throwback to a different age. She doesn't read weekend newspapers and her idea of social media is a TV shop where the televisions talk to each other. Twitter is something that birds do in trees.

Beauty isn't a word that describes her physical appearance; though it would be an accurate enough description. Nor is it a word that describes the many qualities she has: funny, bright, empathetic, warm and kind. In her case, beauty is a state of being.

She's starting her tumultuous journey from upheaval to happiness, as we all do at various times. When she looks heavenwards her sky is filled with thick and foreboding nimbostratus.

She imagines the rain is set and is too fearful to move to another place where there are blue skies and sunshiney days.

She will, in time. We all do. Bob Marley's Redemption Song will become a mission statement rather than a bad joke.

For now, she's wondering why her life hit a place called rock bottom. And she's wondering what JK Rowling meant when she said this: "I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life."

So between now and a place called Good Times, I'm going to do precisely what she did for me when she selflessly hauled me out of New Orleans.

I'll listen to her talk through the emotions that swirl like water spiralling towards a plug. I'll lean my shoulder towards her fragile heart when tears start to fall. I'll do her thinking for her so that she can concentrate on standing up straight. And I'll head her demons off at the pass, like Clint Eastwood stopping the baddies in a Western.

At some point, when she's feeling fine again, she'll say: "That must have been a mild form of living hell. Why did you put up with me?"

And I'll give her the only answer I've got: "Because that's what friends are for."