Marrying yourself – a good idea, up to a point

Working in London for a week, I had nobody to please - except me. It was lovely; a mini-selfie holiday

Love doesn't always take two: Grace Gelder (not pictured) married herself) (Rex)

It's been a weird week for news. First there was that rumour that Kim Jong-un had defected to Ukip. Then I listened with a mixture of pity and astonishment to an interview on the Today programme with a young woman who had married herself. She hadn't held back either. She had proposed to herself on a bench on Parliament Hill, north London, having bought a ring for the occasion. In hindsight, she was lucky that she didn't bump into Ed Miliband as he cruised Hampstead Heath looking for "Gareths". He could have brought that up in his conference speech to show how normal he is. "Comrades, I was just talking the other day to a wonderful young woman who was in the process of marrying herself…."

The woman in question said that she got the idea after listening to a Björk song. When I listen to a Björk song, my first instinct is to turn it off, not marry myself, but each to their own – unless you are in Ukip.

The ceremony took place in Devon with family and friends in attendance. This explained a lot. People tend to do this sort of thing in Devon. The woman is a photographer but it was not clear whether she took the photos of the ceremony. It would have made sense. Never would a "selfie" have been more appropriate for an occasion. I couldn't help but wonder about the wedding night. Would the activities constitute self-abuse or consummation? So many questions….

I was dismissive of the concept at first but then I started to wonder. Maybe it would suit me rather well? Obviously I couldn't hack living in Devon – too many hippies – but the rest might appeal? As it happened I was to be spending the week in London for work. I was booked into a boutique (French for very small and expensive) hotel in Soho and my time was pretty much my own, save for occasionally popping into an edit suite to approve something. I had nobody to answer to, nobody to think about, no school runs, no tidying up after myself. I had nobody to please – except me. It was lovely. I was on a mini-selfie holiday.

I would wake up and wander off to breakfast where I would eavesdrop on people with proper jobs. Then I'd mooch around shops until it was time to have lunch with someone. If I'm honest, I'm very happy dining alone because I can read and don't have to bother making conversation.

Afternoons would be filled with a trip to the cinema where I would join a motley collection of afternoon snoggers, earnest students and fellow solo travellers in our dark destination. The day would end with supper on my own followed by some lounging around in bed watching increasingly rubbish television. I had a blast.

I have to admit however, that by the last day I was missing the hurly-burly of family life. I have come to the conclusion that I need my wife's iron rule to kick against. It makes life fun. I checked out of the hotel, filed divorce proceedings with myself, and headed back to more traditional marital bliss.