The truths I've learned from Big, Little Lies

As much as I loved the first series, and as excited as I was by the idea of a second, perhaps we should have let things be. Like The Handmaid's Tale. Sometimes the best stories don't have neat, tidy endings, and perhaps we shouldn't go looking for them all the time.

But I'm going to approach this column now with a healthy dose of perky Reese Witherspoon optimism (I cheated on my husband, he behaved like an arse for the whole of series two, but, yey, we're renewing our vows on the beach while I wear flowers in my hair).

For there were some things to be taken from series two.

Like bangs are cool: Both Nicole Kidman and Shailene Woodley rocked a fringe. Meryl did too, but her's was not quite as cool. How long has it been since you wore a proper fringe? Year four? We all think about it every now and again. But how long would it take me to grow it out? While I can't ever imagine getting a "baby bang", those ones that sit about 3cm down your forehead, part of me longs for a long one. One that might cover wrinkles on my forehead and give me some sense of allure.

Like Meryl is amazing: Despite her dowdy appearance Meryl was the highlight of the season for me. Catty, awful, insidious, mean. We all know women who like to look like they're doing the right thing, but really their reasons are their own. Was she a mother-in-law cliche, a grieving mother, a caring grandmother, all or none of these things? All I know is that she was great. I want one of these shows with an ensemble female cast with women Meryl's age as the stars.

Like adultery has many definitions: There was a lot less sex this season. Only flashbacks to Kidman's volatile marriage, Woodley's Jane tried to go there a few times. But we saw husbands provoke their partners by developing friendships with women who weren't their partners, husbands betraying their wives financially. It upset me when Kidman's Celeste was admonished for daring to seek out sex even though she no longer had a husband (note to Nicole, probably best not to be drugged up and bringing strangers home, that's why they invented hotels). But she was single, people. Bonnie's husband, who was once Madeline's husband, seemed a decent bloke, still caring for them both, but by season's end Bonnie admitted she didn't love him anymore.

Like no-one knows what's going on in anyone else's marriage: See above. We all have those friends who we think have the perfect marriage, the perfect life. They don't. They might have a front, like Renata, in her beautiful house, with her beautiful wardrobe, and delightful little Arabella. But they don't. One of my favourite scenes was when she smashed the life out of her husband's train set. Some marriages are off the rails for sure. And unless our friends tell us things are off the rails, we can't help them. Some of the most poignant moments came when Madeline was telling Celeste she should have told her friends that Perry was abusing her.

Like you need friends you can tell that stuff to: I'm sure my girlfriends all think I'm an oversharer. But we all need that person, or people, we can tell our darkest secrets to and know they'll be okay with it. Could I pick my Monterey Five? Four friends who would have my back if I pushed one of their husbands down the stairs at a school fundraiser and killed him? (Dang it, maybe I've just lost all chance of being invited to the school trivia night this year.) But yes I could.

Like some of the biggest lies are the little ones we tell ourselves: I've only just got it now. This is what it was all about. How we all like to pretend we're things we're not. Pretend that things aren't happening when they are. It's the little things. Those regular little lies we tell ourselves about our relationships, our families, our friends, little lies about ourselves. Are our lies what make us? Celeste tells Madeline, at one point, that the lie is the friendship. Or perhaps the friendship is the lie?