Being single is not all lavish dinner dates and promiscuous sex, you know. Sometimes it gets really perverse. My bedroom antics of late have raised more than a few eyebrows, and especially from the fairer sex: men.
You may remember a couple of months ago when Virginia tried to set me up with a Noel Gallagher-a-like?
Well, he was visibly taken aback when – in a bid to share one of my more adorable stories – I told him how I'd spent my Saturday afternoon watching Brideshead Revisited in bed and eating egg mayonnaise sandwiches. Homemade egg mayonnaise sandwiches at that (none of your fraudulent deli tub muck).
"You watched a film? In the afternoon? In bed? Eating egg mayonnaise sandwiches?" he said, like a parrot. His tiny mind twisted to an irreparable degree.
"Um, yeah," I said. "Isn't that the best way to spend an afternoon?"
I may then have gone on a bit too long about the joys of egg mayo sandwiches but I think I'd lost him at Brideshead anyway.
It's not the first time I've had a condescending reaction, but it hasn't quelled my passion: I can recount three afternoons in the past two weeks that I've spent luxuriating under the duvet watching, among other treats, Beverly Hills, 90210 (the original!).
While watching the adventures of Brandon, Dylan and co, I managed to eat a bowl of gnocchi.
Why? Well why the hell not? It's the sort of decadent (lazy) behaviour that somebody who lives alone and can afford the more generous Sky multi-channel package can get away with. I don't subscribe to the stereotype that alone time is lonely time – I actively look forward to it; plan for it.
But why aren't some men all that keen? Perhaps a 'lady' should never admit such openly slovenly behaviour. Perhaps it smacks of giving up. I honestly don't give a toss. And I'm not alone in my perversion.
I put the question out there to an ad hoc focus group of eligible female professionals and gathered a veritable smorgasbord of perverse solo bed-ins that would make John and Yoko blush.
There's my red-headed Welsh writer friend who likes nothing more than a Saturday spent under her duvet eating a plate of melted cheese smothered in vinegar (I know, right?). Or the beautiful, long-haired intellectual who holes up with shepherd's pie for a Sunday afternoon Buffy session. A woman after my own heart, though: "You can't beat a bowl of tinned beans and sausages and back-to-back Storage Hunters". As the real Noel put it: we're gonna start a revolution from our beds.