Living on your own doesn’t have to mean you’re lonely!

As ministers go to war on loneliness, one joyfully single writer retorts...

SoMe days, come the evening, I might not have spoken to anybody at all. That ’s not to say that my days are ever dull, uneventful or lonely. It’s just that, as a woman living on my own, what I get up to between waking and sleeping doesn ’t always involve other people. And, far from this making me feel alone, I am perfectly happy to enjoy my own company.

I wake when I please. I potter , make tea and return to bed, unless I’m off to the gym. Lunch happens if and when I feel peckish. At 6pm, I’ll pour myself a glass or two of wine, listen to the news, perhaps watch a little television or read a book, savouring the silence.

Married friends have said (whether with envy, jealousy or pity, I’m not sure) that I am ‘fiercely independent’, as though the way I live is an odd state in which to be.

And yet, the trend towards independent living is growing all the time. Statistics show 1.5 million britons over 50 now live alone, and these numbers are increasing. It is estimated that, by 2025, there will be two million of us.

The number of single households is growing so fast that the hyperactive health Secretary , Matt hancock imagines we must be in the grip of an unprecedented loneliness epidemic.

In a report, he urges gPs to prescribe classes to teach poor old things like me how to master modern technology. That way, he says, we will at least have some - body to chat to, rather than spending our days in miserable isolation with no human contact.

Well, thanks very much, Mr hancock , but, though I’m alone, I am not remotely miserable or depressed — and most of my single friends would say the same.

Far from needing IT classes, I am bang up to date with social media and chat endlessly to friends on my various devices. I go to the cinema, theatre and even on holiday on my own — and the best bit is that, however sociable I may be when I’m out and about, every night I come home to my lovely, single space.

‘I’d hate to go to bed with somebody snoring beside me,’ agrees my 55-year– old neighbour, who has been on her own for 20 years since her divorce.

She likes her place to be neat and tidy and has never been tempted to live with someone again. She adds: ‘I’m comfortable going to the cinema by myself and, in a restaurant or pub, often get chatting to people. I enjoy their company — but always feel thankful I come home alone. I never, ever get lonely.

‘It is true that you have to make more effort to speak to people, but I look at it this way: being alone enables me to meet far more people than I would if I were part of a couple.’

My

neIghbour is quite happy to go up and speak to strangers. I, too, am perfectly content to be in a pub or restaurant alone. Some - times I get talking to others, sometimes not.

Another friend, who is 50 and has always lived alone, says: ‘I couldn’t bear coming home from work and finding that, while I was out, somebody had made them - selves a sandwich and messed up my lovely, clean kitchen.’

Perhaps the sagest comment comes from one (unhappily) married friend, who points out: ‘you can be extremely lonely in a relationship if you don ’t have anything in common ’ — proving two isn’t always better than one.

So why do statisticians find this way of living so alarming? , historically speaking, living alone is relatively new. until the Fifties, when flats for single people began to be built, hardly anybody lived by themselves.

Those who did were considered distinctly odd — yet, nowadays, single households are almost as common as partnered homes.

Moving into my own flat in my mid-40s as a single adult female was exciting. The place needed total renovation, but the crucial thing was that it was mine, all mine and only mine. I’d just come out of a long marriage after never having lived on my own before, going straight from my parents’ house to a shared flat at university and then marriage.

So when, nearly a quarter of a century later, I moved into my very own place, I was glad.

but I was also apprehensive as to how I would manage. While the marriage was not unhappy , it felt like time to move on, to reclaim myself as an individual, rather than one half of a couple.

With my two sons at university, I was free from the constraints of family life and no longer at everybody’s beck and call.

My sons have occasionally come to stay, but, as my flat was never the family home, there is no temptation for them to com - mandeer childhood bedrooms and slip back into their old ways, expecting me to cater for them.

until they got married, they lived in shared houses. When I moved on my own, I didn ’t see being alone as a permanent condition — but, 31 years later , I am still on my own. And I have got to like it so much, I cannot now imagine living any other way.

In the three decades I have lived on my own, nobody else has had a key to my home, let alone my heart. There have been dalliances — one close friendship lasted for 12 years — but I have never offered to let any of them move in.

Instead, I have jealously guarded my space from invaders, so that anyone who comes into my home is an invited guest, not somebody who is there by right.

one or two men friends have hinted at moving in together, and I have had one or two marriage proposals, but the answer has always been ‘no’.

Living alone allows you to invite whom you like into your home. A partner might not take to my friends, or might not want my grandchildren to visit. I might not want his children or grandchildren to visit. A whole heap of potential problems magically disappears when you live by yourself.

of course, I have to do all my own chores. but at least I’m not picking somebody else’s towels up off the floor or asking them what they would like for supper.

Nor

do I have to cook for anybody, do their washing or put up with their clothes taking up space in my wardrobe.

There are no big shoes in the hallway! I can watch the TV programmes I want and go on holiday where I wish. There is nobody to please but myself.

best of all, the bathroom is all mine. I would not want somebody else’s shaving gear or discarded underpants in my sacred space.

My home is extremely clean and tidy: minimalist with no clutter or knick-knacks. I like my kitchen surfaces to be clear , too, which might seem eccentric to some. but it’s how I like to live.

(My late long -term man friend, the writer John Sandilands, had all sorts of collections of things, from marine paintings to armies of model soldiers. I could never have lived with all that clutter.)

Another advantage of living alone? There are no arguments, tempers or mood swings to accommodate. Life is calm.

When I am in a bad mood, I am jolly glad that there is no one else around. I would not want some - body to inflict their temper on me, nor to force mine on anyone else.

I can write out my frustrations in my diary or go for an hour on the treadmill. I never, ever long for a shoulder to cry on.

Which is why I believe living alone should never be confused with being lonely . P eople are lonely when they can ’t connect with others — and, in these cases, I have no doubt the prescribed classes Mr hancock is recom - mending would be very helpful.

but I like to regard m yself as a friendly, approachable p erson. I enjoy company, but I also enjoy my own company.

Are there any downsides? The only one I can think of is that you are responsible for all the bills, and it costs basically as much to live on your own as in a couple.

So the single life is a luxury you have to be able to afford.

The great british bake off judge Prue Leith, who has been married to her second husband, John Playfair, for three years and happily living in separate cottages, has just announced that they will now be moving in together.

Quite honestly, P rue, is that prudent? I say, hold on to your separate homes. once you invite someone in, it’s hard to get them out again.