Living alone.

I am not expecting any visitors today. At least I don’t think I am. I hope I’m right. Since arriving home I have had far too many people turning up. I am not often rude to anyone but the people who arrive on my doorstep far too often are obviously looking at a list. The curate seems to have left my name on lots of lists of people to be visited. And still they come. Mostly I maintain a polite smile whilst telling them to go away. But it is astonishing how many people think I need to be visited. I’ve never realised before that the parish visit could be resented rather than looked forward to. But when people turn up whose names I don’t know or indeed anything about them then I don’t ask them in. I stand on the doorstep , thank them for their kindness and send them away. It is a mistake I find to assume that just because anyone lives alone then they must be lonely. I am not lonely. I could occasionally welcome some quiet time on my own. I am still finding letters from old friends which my cleaner .”tidied” whilst I was away at Christmas. They all need a reply. I like living alone. I would rather David had lived but as he didn’t I am actually enjoying eating rubbish I havnt cooked, watching rubbish on the TV and prowling around the huge garden and fairly big house on my own. It’s not a grief to be alone...it’s a joy most days. Yesterday was David’s birthday. So I chatted to him as I went, sang Happy Birthday David as I poured a glass of wine during the evening. It doesn’t feel lonely...in fact it’s good to be able to do daft things without an audience. So please those of you who do "visiting" try to be sure that your visits are needed, that you are not resented and that one day it might be you who gets mistaken for a lonely old woman, or bloke.