The emotional effects of being single for the first time in 16 years come in waves and sometimes, like the tide, you can hop over them, sometimes they crash into you and sometimes they simply cover your feet in an icy slurry of sand and salt.
At the moment, I seem to have the sand between my toes. Things are OK, but there are gritty reminders of going it alone: keeping on top of bills, nobody but you to make you a cup of tea and having nobody to go places with. The latter is especially niggling at the moment — possible because the weather has been glorious and staying in seems a gloomy option.
Now, on the whole, I am (and always have been) very happy to go places by myself, be it the cinema or the pub, but lately I have been yearning to go on a long country walk, soak up the sunshine, admire nature, end up in the pub for a sneaky shandy and to let the afternoon creep into evening and have one of those halcyon days we all dream of. And I have the time to do it, but nobody to go with. And it’s not just chocolate box walks, actually. It’s things like someone to go to the garden centre with, to have Sunday lunch in the pub with, someone to cook for at home.
I know. I’m being maudlin. Again. There are plenty of positives about being alone, which I promise I will write about in a more cheerful mood. But, for today, I will continue to look out of my window at the sunshine and wonder if I can be bothered to light up a barbecue and make up some Pimms. Just for me.