ON Friday, I went to the Proms, on Saturday I was at the Almeida for a matinee and then on Monday night you could find me at the National Theatre.

What all of these things have in common is that I went on my own.
Now you can stop your sympathy before it starts. It was fine. In fact, it was more than fine, I enjoyed it.

Normally this admittance can be met with bewilderment, and the occasional sentiment of it being “brave”.

It’s something I find baffling. Brave? Brave?!

For being independent and enjoying your own company. You wouldn’t say that if they went to the supermarket alone. There is nothing more patronising.

However some people, and men particularly, are rubbish at doing things on their own.

Being lonely is isolating and corrosive, paralysing you. People will sit at home alone, rather than doing something they would enjoy or have always wanted to do, because doing something on your own can seem a bit weird.

There is the worry that people will think: ‘Who is that massive loner with nobody to go with?’

But in reality, is that really something that anyone has seriously thought?

And more importantly otherwise – what is the alternative?

To not do something because some people you have never met might fleetingly judge you?
I’ve always been quite good at doing my own thing.

I have been to the theatre, gigs, art galleries and the football, on my own.

If I’m early to meet friends, there’s nothing better than dropping into a pub nearby with a book or a newspaper, to sit with a drink, read a few chapters, have a stab at the crossword, people watch, eavesdrop and see the world go by.

I’m lucky to have a healthy group of people around me, but sometimes organising things is more hassle than it’s worth.
It begins by sending around a cascade of messages asking when people are free, they ask if they can let you know, or don’t reply for a few hours, when really you want to get on and book something.

Instead there’s a quiet pleasure of going to a play on your own, getting a drink in the bar beforehand, read and do a bit of people watching, treat yourself to an ice-cream in the interval, and get home under your own steam.

As a teenager in the late 2000s, if I had a free Saturday and I wanted to see some football but my team, Kidderminster Harriers, were away I would jump on the train down to Worcester City.

Football, as ever, is the lingua franca of male social interaction. I’d go to the pub at the ground, buy a drink and watch whatever the early kick-off was on TV.

Before long, so would some other guy. “How do you reckon your lot’ll get on today?” is normally a good opener.
Followed up by “Who’s worth looking out for then? How has your season been going?”.

These aren’t earth shattering interactions, but enough to keep ticking over.

The other week at the Proms I got talking to the woman sat next to me, who was also there on her own. It turned out she had been there decades before and seen both Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald live. Now how often do you meet someone like that?

Just because you are on your own does not mean you can’t talk to other people, or it has to be a totally isolating experience.

I realise these are the reflections of someone with an element of privilege. I’m a white man, I can go into these spaces without feeling that anyone is raising an eyebrow. I know from speaking to friends that, sadly, if you’re a woman you might not feel as comfortable going in to a pub on your own.

That has to change.

But if you want to get out of the house, but you can’t find friends to go with, why not give it a go and go anyway. You might just enjoy it.