Holiday For One

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single girl in possession of a spare room must be in want of a flatmate. Except, I'm not. It was one of the many things that surprised me about becoming newly single, the frequency with which I was asked whether I was looking to live with a friend. Generally speaking, I've found that living on my own is ok. I'm used to spending time on my own, I like my space, the peace and quiet is lovely, and I'm happy pottering around entertaining myself. When you've got tea, books, the cat, and box sets on demand, what more could you want?

There is a limit to my introversion though. I am really lucky in that it is largely a choice - if I'm teetering on the border of lonely then I can take myself out for a coffee, go to the gym, or give a friend a call.

The only thing that is bothering me? Holidays.

I never used to think of myself as a beach holiday person. As a child I'd hide inside during the summer, playing on the computer or reading. It'd never crossed my mind to go away with a group of friends while I was a student - we spent our summer holidays working, with music festivals as our equivalent of a week in Ibiza. It wasn't until I found myself desperate to escape to the drudgery of work and the constant Scottish summer rain that I really began to see the appeal. Four years on Greek islands... and I'm hooked.

The thing is that I'm not the kind of person who finds it easy to relax. My weekends usually involve one day of cleaning, tidying, cooking and going to the supermarket, and one day of seeing friends. I feel guilty when I lie on the sofa watching a film or reading - I can't enjoy it if I've got housework to do. No offense to my lovely family - who between them have some of the most beautiful parts of the UK covered - but I want warmth. and to be able to crack open a beer at 11am because it's cheaper than a can of Coke.

So, where does the single woman go on holiday?

I've been thinking about a Yoga retreat somewhere sunny and beautiful. There's something very appealing about the thought of a week spent relaxing both my body and mind, with the backup of company or solitude, depending on what I fancy. But the thought of sharing a room with a stranger terrifies me, and I'd be worried I'd pull a muscle on the second day.

Or then there's a city break - Barcelona perhaps - exploring and adventuring, visiting museums and wandering, eating picnics in parks. But is there a limit to how much you can enjoy an experience if there's no one to share it with, and is it wise to travel somewhere alone without speaking the language?

To follow the old cliché of finishing a blog post with a question - has anyone had experience of holidaying alone, and what wisdom would you share with me?