Why solo drinking is different for men and women
As the daughter of publicans, Rowan Pelling knows the difference between a lonely drinker and a lone one
Few understand better than I do that some adults drink out of loneliness. My parents had a country pub and my childhood was marked by the solitary men (always men) who would regularly turn up on our doorstep five minutes before opening time, meaning one of my parents would have to abandon our ritual of watching early TV together to tend to the lonesome soul; often the only customer until the regulars arrived closer to 8pm. There was a stark contrast between our big, riotous family with five siblings, plus assorted cats and dogs, and the solo boozers. My mother felt so sorry for these “lost sheep” she’d talk to them for hours and diligently introduce them to more sociable locals. On a couple of occasions she even asked the lone drinkers for Christmas.
But, despite a new survey finding that one in 10 of us drink to combat loneliness, in adult life I’ve found solo drinking needn’t feel lonesome or like the gateway to excess. In solo mode a drink becomes a treat, something to savour as you contemplate the day.
I discovered the pleasure of a solo tipple when I started my first job on a magazine based in Soho. There was a bar next to the office where the late, legendary mixologist maestro Dick Bradsell (inventor of the now ubiquitous espresso Martini) started his career and, when the day ended, I’d wander in and Dick would say, “What sort of mood are you in?”
Then he’d mix me a cocktail to enhance my emotions. It was alcohol as alchemy and one drink was always enough. I enjoyed the sensation of being a lone woman on a bar-stool, enjoying the sort of metropolitan elixir I’d only ever seen before in movies. I felt like a story was about to begin – and sometimes one did.
Ever since then I’ve enjoyed an occasional post-work drink on my own. It’s a particularly powerful antidote to the miseries of commuting (I travel between London and Cambridge at least three times a week).
It’s a particularly powerful antidote to the miseries of commuting
Few things are sweeter than watching fellow travellers squeezing into an overcrowded carriage while I opt to idle for an hour in a convivial bar. I travel home from King’s Cross, but I often nip over the road to St Pancras where the range of drinking holes is far superior. If I’m feeling flush I’ll have a negroni at George’s Bar, pretending to be an affluent businesswoman waiting for the Eurostar. If not, I’ll head for the Sourced Market where you can get a cheap glass of good French wine and sit out at wooden tables, watching the passers-by in true Parisian fashion.
If I don’t manage to snatch a drink in London, there’s every chance I’ll stop for a jar at the Cambridge Wine Merchants on my cycle-ride home from the station. This excellent wine bar and shop on Magdalene Bridge has perfected the art of welcoming female drinkers. In a classy bar, single women are welcome guests, as it’s a sure sign you’re in a joint where drunken hooliganism is not tolerated.
That’s not to say there aren’t downsides to being a woman drinking on her own. Stray men can imagine you’re waiting to be chatted up, but if you say, “I’m waiting for my husband,” they soon disappear. And generally I have a book on the go, which I can thrust my nose into if someone tiresome appears.
In short, drinking on your own is among life’s great pleasures. It’s only a source of sadness when it’s a necessity rather than a choice.