It started about 10 years ago: prior to this I had no male friends. There were certainly men in my life whom I liked and respected, but no one I would meet up with for a drink and a heart-to-heart. Why? Not, dear readers, because I am a man-hater. As I have written before, I only hate those who rape and abuse women and children, and those who do nothing to stop other men doing so.

I will give you a little history here. When I came out as a lesbian, in 1978, there was a vibrant women's liberation movement in the UK. I moved to Leeds two years later to track these women down and join forces with them. In those days, if you were a truly radical feminist you were a lesbian. If you were a lesbian, chances are you were involved in feminism in some way. I made no friends with men because my whole life became about trying to stop the violent and misogynistic ones hurting women. I knew there were good men, but I had no time for them and often found that they felt threatened by my lesbianism and hardline politics.

As time moved on, I noticed a change in some of the men I came into regular contact with, such as the partners and relatives of heterosexual friends and those I met through work. They were becoming less defensive about and more responsive to feminism. My lesbianism, which many men took as a personal slight back in the bad old days, stopped being an issue. I met gay men who had some politics and not just around issues that directly affected them. I met Shaun, the partner of a good friend of mine, and he and I became mates, so much so that I even agreed to be best woman at his wedding (the first one I had ever agreed to attend). Then I started to go on the odd night out with a young man I met while researching a story. Then I acquired more men, gay and straight, until I began to invite them to parties and then to dinner and then, recently, even on holiday!

I, too, have definitely softened around the edges in the past few years (yes, really) and my work as a journalist researching sexual violence and other crimes has brought me into contact with some of the best of men. I met Gian, a radical psychiatrist and expert on the effects of sexual violence, when doing a story for this newspaper on stalking-related murders. Only last week he was in my kitchen, devouring most of a leg of lamb I had cooked for us. Paul is a fellow journalist – his partner describes him as my evil male twin.

I like being close to a few good men, but I will continue to give the bad ones a really hard time. It is my job. But in the meantime, I have to go Christmas shopping with a group of female friends. There are some things you can't even ask a nice man to do with you.