There are eight group-chat archetypes. I know which I am – and it’s not sexy or cool | Polly Hudson

If you want to completely bore a child, try telling them about how there were only four TV channels when you were growing up. Or that if you wanted to hear a pop song you had to buy a physical copy, or sit by your boombox – yes, boombox – listening to the radio with your finger hovering over the record button, hoping the DJ wouldn’t talk over any of it and that you wouldn’t end up in prison for piracy.

To that eye-glazing list we can now add that once upon a time, if you were attempting to make plans with a bunch of friends, you had to message every single one of them individually. Can you even imagine, sonny? This was back in the prehistoric period, before the invention of the group chat.

Nowadays, 71% of British people use this method to organise their social lives, according to a survey. Apparently, we each contribute to, on average, 151 group chats a year. The research also identified eight archetypes that typically inhabit every thread.

There’s the organiser, “the powerhouse who turns ideas into reality”; the “I’m easy” friend, “whose hidden preferences are a hindrance”; and the ghoster, “who reads every message, never replies, but shows up for every occasion”.

Then there’s the self-explanatory last-minute responder; the meme machine, who “communicates almost entirely in gifs, TikToks and screenshots”; and the flake – super enthusiastic right until the last second, when they drop out. Finally, we have the yapper, who “sends long voice notes and paragraphs on topics completely unrelated to the plan” and – boo! Hiss! – the instigator, who “constantly suggests plans but leaves everyone else to organise them”. Being honest with yourself about which one you are is probably the first step towards enlightenment.

More than a third of those surveyed admitted they’re the “I’m easy” friend, AKA a buck-passer in laid-back clothing. Just 14% owned up to being “the ghoster”, and let’s hope they feel pressure to bring a lot to the evening after contributing nothing to arranging it.

One in five – 21% – are my people. Fellow organisers, I see you, I feel you and I heartily suggest we unite to enjoy the most seamlessly planned get-together of all time. We are, without question, the unappreciated heroes of the group chat, if not the world. We deal with multiple schedules, we juggle logistics and we were the first to learn how to do a poll of dates on WhatsApp. We are scientists, mathematicians, artists.

Where would the others be without us, eh? I’ll tell you where – at home, on their own, because they didn’t manage to plan a meet-up. Birthdays would go uncelebrated, colleagues would move on without acknowledgment, friendships would fade.

Especially dedicated organisers will also book tickets, sometimes only to be repaid by not being paid back for ages, if ever. Like shy bailiffs, we’ll drop hints and supply bank details again, saying we can’t remember if we gave them already (we can). The lower the amount, the meaner we appear if we chase it, even though, yes, £12 isn’t much on its own, but for a group it adds up fast. See? There’s no way to mention it without sounding like Victor Meldrew – and who fancies a night out with him, even if he has put his card behind the bar to secure the table?

Organisers have to be the tedious prefect who reins in the conversation when it meanders off topic, the bad cop, and also pretend to believe fantastical tales such as: “Sorry, only just seen this.” Our role isn’t sexy and it isn’t cool, but when everybody can sit down even though the pub is rammed, you’ll be glad we are there, squeezed in next to you, due to the lack of a full quota of RSVPs.