Sorry all you do-gooders, but some of us love being lonely

HAS loneliness escalated from ‘personal misfortune’ to ‘social epidemic’? Rachel Reeves, the Labour MP, thinks it has.

At the launch of a commission on loneliness, initially set up by the murdered MP Jo Cox, Reeves added that Sir William Beveridge, architect of the Welfare State, would have added loneliness to his list of evils – want, disease, squalor, ignorance and idleness – if he were starting today.

The commission finds loneliness – nine million adults in the UK say they are always or sometimes lonely – to be as harmful as smoking 15 cigarettes a day. There were the inevitable calls for the Government, the NHS, volunteers and business to do something.

It’s all well-meaning, particularly for the isolated elderly who invariably have lost a spouse, are less mobile and less well-off. But to assume someone is lonely because he or she lives alone would be deeply, insultingly, patronising.

My mum lost my dad and lived alone for almost 20 years, but she wasn’t lonely, as for her there was no comparable alternative to his company. She’d have been outraged to have been classed as unhealthy (and profligate) as a smoker. She’d had her time as head of a busy household; her years alone were simply a different time.

Life goes through stages. It shouldn’t all be bustle and crowded i nter- generational tables. She actually relished her new-found peace and quiet.

I work from home and can go for days without speaking to a soul. If I do speak, to one of my dogs, it invariably comes out as a croak. But I don’t miss the office, or coming home to a husband, as I always found the company of others either draining (time-wasting gossiping and moaning at work) or irritating (mess, closed doors and moody silences at home).

Disability, I admit, makes you more susceptible to feeling isolated. Being deaf, I will often opt to stay home rather than go to a party where people will think me dim because I don’t join in, or come out with the wrong response. But that’s my choice. It is not a social problem, to be fixed by public money and a Minister in charge.

Inevitably, though, the debate has been drawn as black or white. In reality, it all depends on the quality of the company.

If the person who comes to invade my space isn’t well-read, handy, funny, full of fantastic anecdotes, and willing to take their shoes off (I admit: women who live alone can become fastidious) then I’d rather be alone with my book or box set.

Why does the loneliness commission not value a rich inner life? Privacy? The freedom to do as you please? Appearances can be deceptive.

IWENT f or di nner t he other night with a couple who seem to have it all: glorious town house, children, grandchildren, money, a packed social diary and Christmas cards on every surface (I’ve received only two, one of those from the dustman).

But when I expressed shock to discover she’s 55 (I’d have guessed at 40), the husband guffawed cruelly, her thrilled glow snuffed out as surely as a candle at the end of the evening. She may have company, but what loneliness she must feel.

I, on the other hand, returned to my ostensibly sterile house as to a warm nest.

And why class what is often a choice, or the hand life has dealt you, as a terrible habit that should be stopped? Hell can be other people. Far better than foisting someone we have nothing in common with upon us would be tax breaks for those of us who chose not to have children.

The money could go towards paying for a pet, who’d give us far more love than any council busybody. Or on practical help for those of any age who live alone: I don’t want a Scrabble partner or someone to wrestle for the remote, I want lightbulb changers, radiator bleeders, anyone willing to go up a ladder, stubborn- lawnmower starters, Phillips screwdriver owners and stupid, complex bill-from-EDF descramblers.

But e v e n p r a c t i c a l h e l p mustn’t be foisted. I remember, in deep snow, stopping on a remote Exmoor road to offer an elderly woman with a full shopping trolley a lift. I held open the passenger door, she took one look at my collies and said, ‘I don’t want dog hair on my coat, it’s Jaeger!’ and slammed the door. What chutzpah! Now that was someone I definitely wanted to get to know.