My heart sinks as I check my bank balance and see that I am nearly £800 overdrawn. Again. I rack my brain trying to think what I have spent the money on in the last month or so.

There was that lunch with my friends Gemma and Lucy, where Gemma told us she had been offered a new job and we ended up ordering champagne to celebrate. I think the bill came to more than £250 for three of us.

Then there was the 50th birthday dinner for my husband’s friend where even though the set menu was £75 a head, we spent more than twice that with the drinks and taxi home. Oh, and the present for our friend, a personalised bottle of his favourite wine, which set us back another £60.

I still haven’t replied to my friend Anna’s message about our annual Christmas shopping trip either. She lives in London, whereas I’m in the Cotswolds, so we usually go somewhere like Oxford or Bath and make a day of it.

Aside from the cocktails, which have become something of a tradition, there will be brunch or an early dinner, plus the train, and then I’ve got all the presents to buy too.

Plus, there’s my cherished annual Christmas get-together with my university friends, many of whom live in London.

One of them has booked a private dining room in a swanky gastro-pub this year, but it clashes with my husband Dom’s work do. So I either have to try to call on an ageing grandparent to look after the kids or shell out a small fortune on a babysitter.

I’m now 47, but is it any wonder I’m still living on my overdraft?

In fact, I’m suffering a classic case of ‘friendflation’ – a new term which describes how the cost of socialising with friends has soared in recent years.

I don’t know about everyone else, but the financial burden of maintaining friendships has never felt so acute.

In the last year alone the cost of food and non-alcoholic drinks has risen by almost five (4.9) per cent, and by December it’s forecast to rise by a further 5.7 per cent according to government figures.

When most of our socialising revolves around meeting for a cuppa (or something stronger), or a meal, those of us whose wages haven’t kept pace are bound to feel the squeeze.

According to a recent study by financial tech company Self Financial, four in five people – a whopping 80 per cent – have felt anxiety around money while spending time with friends, especially when it comes to weddings and big birthdays.

In my early 30s, I remember having a total of 11 weddings in a single year, including one in Barcelona and one in Tuscany plus a hen do in Ibiza. I don’t know how much I spent that year, but if I had to do the same today – with travel, accommodation, dresses and gifts, – it could easily cost upwards of £10,000.

That was pre-kids, thankfully. Now I have two teenagers and an 11-year-old to factor into my budgeting. With Christmas around the corner. and a host of tech gadgets on wish lists, carving out money for friends feels harder than ever.

Another study, by credit card firm Aqua, found that 67 per cent of us feel pressured to spend more than we planned in social situations and a staggering nine in ten (89 per cent) regularly exceeded their intended budget for socialising each month.

Yet I do it willingly. I have, through a process of trial and error, concluded that living on your overdraft is worth it to maintain important friendships.

I have acquired mates from every area of my life over the years – school, university, work, the school mums – and try to see at least one good friend a week.

As I work mostly from home, with nothing but two dogs and a cat for company, I love to catch up over lunch as much as evening drinks. Who else am I going to chat to about my latest TV obsession (Conrad Fisher from The Summer I Turned Pretty), or the recent drama at one of my three children’s schools?

I’m in the fortunate position of being invited to quite a few interesting events for work, too.

But as most of them are in London and I’m in Oxfordshire, I always have to shell out for the train ticket to get there. It can cost as much as £100 in peak times. Then there are the local social events, which are fairly plentiful here in the Cotswolds.

I went to one recently at a gorgeous Georgian country house in Oxfordshire which has just been opened to the public.

The place was beautiful but buying a glass of wine set me back £17. I opted for a non-alcoholic drink next, thinking it would save me a bit of money, but it still cost nearly £8 for a ginger beer.

Despite the cost, I know that getting out and about a few times a month, or meeting up with a friend on a Friday, helps keep me sane.

There’s plenty of research to prove that socialising is good for mental health, reduces stress, sharpens cognitive skills and probably helps you live longer. It’s productive too: I’ve lost count of the times work problems have been solved after bouncing them around with friends.

Chatting to friends with kids the same age and going through the same sort of day-to-day struggles, from the 11-Plus to friendship fallouts, always makes me feel less alone.

My mum died a few years before my first child was born and I moved back to where I grew up shortly after, so lots of the friends I see regularly are people I’ve known for years. Some are more like family.

To try to help counteract the friendflation costs, I often suggest meeting local mates – including a fellow freelancer who has a precarious income like me and an old friend from school who also has two dogs – for a walk instead. We might amble to a cafe and grab a coffee, but then it’s back home for much cheaper scrambled eggs or beans on toast.

Fortunately, I can be honest with them about the state of my finances.

Even though we’re all relatively well off in comparison to lots of people, I earn less than the annual average salary of £37,800. My husband earns considerably more as a lawyer, but I’d rather pay for nights out with mates myself than ask him to bankroll them.

In another bid to boost my finances, I recently joined Vinted (very late to the party, I know) and am delighted to have made over £300 in three months. Which covers what? Three dinners out with a glass of wine or coffee?

With Chancellor Rachel Reeves set to announce the government’s tax and spending plans in the Budget next month, I can’t imagine things are going to get any easier.

But even if I have to sell 75 per cent of my wardrobe and only ever drink tap water, that would still be preferable to not seeing my beloved friends.

I did pause for a moment before agreeing to go along to the lunch and day disco that the mums at my eldest’s school have just organised – tickets cost £20 and lunch will be another £30 at least.

But I’ve realised I’d rather live in debt than be a hermit. You just can’t put a price on having fun with friends.