My friend’s lateness drives me mad I’ve known and liked my friend for years but she’s never on time. And. It. Sends. Me. Through. The. Roof. Over the years I’ve sat waiting for her in restaurants with other frowning friends, all starving but not ordering because ‘it’s polite to wait’; hovered on a station platform in the cold, missing train after train to London for a concert as she’d finally texted that she was still in the shower. I’ve had to go into a cinema by myself – then had to catch her up with the story in whispers when she crept in half an hour later. Most memorably, she was more than a full hour late for a family Christmas lunch I’d foolishly invited her to as she was on her own. It completely ruined the timing of all the vital last-minute trimmings that go with the turkey. My poor elderly parents made small talk and it was a real effort not to ruin their Christmas by showing how furious and stressed out I was. Worse, not only is she always late, she never apologises. Instead she swans in with a beatific smile, not registering the fuming reactions around her, and either blame-shifts or makes up a transparent lie as an excuse. The cat escaped; someone had a car accident and she stopped to help; traffic hold-ups – I’ve had them all. When, a few days later I asked about the outcome of the accident she’d clearly forgotten her excuse and for a second didn’t know what I was talking about. A few weeks ago I realised I was shutting her out of my life – but when we’re together she’s one of the loveliest, funniest friends I have. What WAS going on – Superiority complex? Passive-aggressive? I decided to do some research. An article about the psychology behind being perpetually late set me thinking. It turns out that many ‘tardys’ have had childhoods where they were not valued – ending up as adults with low self-esteem. Ergo, they were unable to understand that others would mind if they turned up or not. There were other possible reasons. Over-optimistic personalities couldn’t grasp how long 30 minutes, say, actually was; some had low levels of self-control; others got a thrill out of rushing to catch up. Some could even be unconsciously anxious about being early, for a range of reasons. I decided to investigate and, on chatting, discovered her father had been a real bully when she was a child and her mother had never intervened. However she was definitely still a sunny character – one of the many reasons I loved her company. Maybe she ticked a couple of those boxes. I decided on a carrot and stick approach. The next time a pub get-together with friends was planned, I rang her. I told her I’d be a bit early for the 7.30pm meeting so there was no risk of her turning up without me. Then I said how much I was looking forward to seeing her, as I really loved being with her and valued her company enormously. It sounded a bit gushing, to be honest, and there was a startled silence on the end of the phone, but I was determined to see my strategy through properly. Crucially, I set boundaries too, saying that if she wasn’t there by 7.45 I would leave as I didn’t want to be there without her. A fib of course, but… And guess what – at 7.35pm she arrived. Late enough for her, perhaps, to quell any potential anxiety about being early but on-time enough not to miss me. Most of all she seemed happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. It’s early days but so far the intervention seems to be working. And it made me think. How many of us are told by friends, expressly, how important we are to them? Perhaps we should all try it. Do you have advice for our writer, or know anyone who has been through something similar? Let us know in the comments section below. The Telegraph values your comments but kindly requests all posts are on topic, constructive and respectful. Read our community guidelines in full here.​