Nine questions I can finally answer about When Harry Met Sally

Faking orgasms, sleeping with friends, visiting New York — watching When Harry Met Sally left me with so many questions about my own life, writes Angela Mollard. Thirty years on I have answers.

I never liked Harry in When Harry Met Sally.

He was cynical, rude and unevolved. He spat grape pips at the car window without winding it down, skipped to the end of novels in case he died before he finished reading them, and was firmly of the opinion that no man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive.

Mostly I didn’t like him because he was a dream crusher.

I was a bit like Sally. Not as pretty as a pre-Botoxed Meg Ryan, obviously, but I had her deranged curly blonde hair, drove a yellow car, preferred salad dressing on the side and had faked the odd orgasm — though, mercifully, not in public.

Around 1989, when the movie came out, just like Sally I was preparing to drive to the big city to go to journalism school.

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Remember Harry’s mean-spirited line about Sally’s plans to become a reporter: “What, so you can write about things that happen to other people?”

Plonker. I vowed to avoid short, smart-arsed men for the rest of my life.

For all I loathed Harry, played by Billy Crystal, I did love the movie. Unsure about relationships yet thrilled to be heading out into a grown-up world, I wondered whether some of the things that happened to Sally would happen to me.

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Would I ever meet someone in a book store? Would I have a best friend as fabulous as Carrie Fisher? Would I look as good as Meg Ryan in pleated knee-length shorts?

Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal tackling some of life’s biggest questions in When Harry Met Sally.

So this week, to mark its 30th anniversary, I watched When Harry Met Sally again. It made me miss the marvellous late Nora Ephron, a scriptwriter whose words were worth a thousand pictures, and Meg Ryan, who deserved a career as enduring as Jennifer Aniston’s and lifelong love with Russell Crowe.

Harry was still irritating (and short) but three decades on, here’s my answers to some of those questions.

Could I ever be friends with a man I found attractive?

Well, yes. But only after I’d slept with him. We were terrific friends but as pesky Harry pointed out, attraction gets in the way. We gave into it a few times, no one died, and we’ve been great mates for nearly 25 years.

Once, while crossing the road he told me I was “loyal”. I love him fiercely as you do friends from your 20s and on the rare occasions we meet up, he’s a reminder of the person I used to be.

Would a man really leave 30 seconds after sex which, as Harry suggests, plenty of men want to do?

Yes! And it was awful and soul crushing but it taught me to choose better next time.

Would I ever skip forward to read the ending of a book?

Nope, I’d just give up because the world is full of too many brilliant books to be bothered reading the rubbish ones. Actually, I did skip to the end once — it was a Liane Moriarty novel and I needed to finish it before interviewing her. I think she knew.

Would I be high maintenance or low maintenance or, what Harry suggests is the worst kind, a high maintenance woman who thinks she’s low maintenance?

I couldn’t give a stuff what level of maintenance I am — are the men being asked? No. I suspect a lot of “high maintenance” women simply know to ask for what they need.

Kudos to them. I love camping though. And can think of no greater waste of an hour than having a manicure.

Would I ever go to New York?

Yes! Twice. I fell for all of it: the toasted Rueben sandwiches, coffee cups emblazoned with “I Heart New York”, the Yankees, Duane Reade drug stores, surveying the city from the World Trade Centre.

Anyone who has been in love in New York believes it’s somehow their city. Because it is and will always be.

Would I continue to fake orgasms?

Not now. The earth doesn’t need to move every time and no one should be hurt, disappointed, self-critical or judgmental if it doesn’t. Good sex can be everything from a symphony to a solo performance, with a few missed notes in between.

Would I ever have a best friend like Marie (Carrie Fisher)?

Actually, Marie was a bit lame. She sent herself flowers (by all means buy them for yourself but having them delivered is both delusional and wasteful) and thought the married men she slept with would leave their wives. Conversely my best friend of 25 years is smart, funny and wise. “You don’t want to be a girl-shaped piece of puzzle in someone else’s life,” she told me a few years ago.

Would anyone ever look at me the way Harry looked at Sally when he told her all the things he loved about her?

Yes, and while I’m grateful for it, I’ve learned there’s greater love in what’s done rather than what’s said.

Was Harry right? Would my job be to tell other people’s stories?

Absolutely, and what a privilege it is. Stories are humanity’s greatest currency. And sometimes, see above, I’m also fortunate enough to tell my own.

@angelamollard