After a splendid Sunday morning in Heaton Park, Prestwich, with dog, mates and a 7 year old child, I came home to marvel (again) at my latest purchase (the countertop dishwasher, do keep up), eat an ice cream and read The Guardian.

Amongst the usual horror of Trump’s tub-thumping, the horrific earthquake in Myanmar and the reaction to Labour’s fiscal attacks on the poor and disabled, one article was turned to for some levity: about eating alone.

In this, Emma Gannon the author, separated, talks of the stigma and joy of eating alone – as a recent report states that solo dining is a sign of unhappiness. The author’s response, like mine here, sets out to debunk it.

Now, I’m a natural extrovert, a social animal, but one who has beaten loneliness from December 2022 to around May 2023 (almost 2 years ago, I’ve realised) and found utter peace and contentment in solitude. 

I eat alone, at home or in Manchester restaurants, most days and nights.

There’s something joyous about it too. I can pick where I want to eat – with two stipulations – they have to be dog friendly and coeliac friendly, as I am allergic to gluten. 

I used to feel very self-conscious about it, at the outset, but no longer. I like the company of other people (good people, mind, not morons) and enjoy dining in a group; but there is something singularly satisfying about eating alone. I realise too that the stigma of solo dining is probably less for a man, than a woman, but this is how it goes for me.

When I head to any Manchester restaurant, solo or with dog, I don’t raw-dog. I take AirPods and sometimes the iPad, as well as the iPhone. Sometimes I listen to music whilst eating, and waiting, but 90% of the time I don’t as staff know me, and other customers (Manchester is friendly) talk to me. 

They don’t ask why I’m eating alone at all and I never explain as a cursory glance round many eateries says that it is not now abnormal. 

At Pho No 1, I sit at the staff table quite often, as I manage their social media and they know me as a friend and customer. It’s where I’m having my 60th birthday bash with 25 others on Friday 4th April. 

If it’s busy (as with elsewhere), I’ll stick AirPods in and listen to music and read. The point is I do whatever I want to do – without an iota of self-consciousness or shame.

Likewise, I enjoy the company of friends whilst eating, but if a hypothetical question was imposed: eat alone for the rest of your restaurant time or with friends, I’d choose alone for sure. 

I think that’s what the healing journey has looked like for me – I’ve practised radical acceptance of what happened (marital breakdown) and instead of it dragging me down to despair (as it did for 6 months), I’ve found again the real authentic me. I lived alone from 18 to 30 (not on that holiday programme no) and found at 57, that happiness can be truly found again by just doing what you love.

Eating out, for me, on my own, is one of many pleasures

It’s because I’m happy with myself, and in myself, again. 

I don’t project unhappiness in singleness, because I’m no longer unhappy. 

I’ve decided, with the precision of a surgical scalpel, to laser-focus on myself in the present and future, I no longer people please, accept disrespect or people who irritate or bore me. 

My social circle is healthy – about 10 close friends – but my inner circle is where true contentment comes from: eating alone, working alone, being creative with photos and videos in Manchester, with just my beautiful Border Collie by my side.

Table for one, please, again.