'One is fun!" I don't know if I should be happy or not when I find the last reduced Tesco healthy-eating Indian meal for one. It looks luscious and is only €2.99.
I put it in my basket but hope nobody notices my "unhappy" meal. I hide it under the bin-bags and the washing-up liquid, items that suggest home and family.
It's not that I'm embittered about romance; I go to romantic films and laugh ironically. The crying starts when I go home to cook expansively, for one. Delia Smith has a collection of cookery books, and I own One is Fun! but I have changed this title a hundred times. And I have scrawled my favourite alternatives inside the cover, titles like: "One is a kick in the head!" and "One is the least fun I ever had!" Inside the book Delia tries to keep our spirits up by giving the chapters cheerful titles such as 'Solo soups', 'Singular Salads and Sauces' and 'Super Snacks'. And Delia does show some understanding of the person living alone, as in "if you have decided on a recipe that calls for half an aubergine, then why not consider another recipe that also calls for half an aubergine". She realises that if you live alone it is unlikely someone will get up in the night and eat the other half without telling you.
Which, incidentally, is why I asked my last three flatmates to leave, and I have to remind myself of this when I wish for company.
However, when I get to the final chapter, 'Happy Endings', I begin to wonder whether there is a hidden message. Eventually I find it tucked away much earlier, in the dedication, which is not addressed to her lonely readers everywhere, or to her granny, struggling in her 80s to keep nutrition and colour in her solo dishes. Or to me, eating with a window and my neighbour's satellite dish for company. Instead the dedication is to "M.I.".
Initially I thought this might stand for something like "Miserable Independents" or "Malnutritioned Irregulars", but I am not convinced and scan the page until I find: "As always a very special thank-you to Michael, my husband, without whose help this book would not have been published."
What she really should have written is "without whom I would have to cook and eat these unhappy meals every day". I spend the next hour raging about the insensitivity of a woman who begins a cookery book for people on their own by revealing how wonderful her life partner is. Part of me hopes that this is Delia's bizarre sense of humour. But it is the only joke in the book, and if you were not depressed before you bought One is Fun! you are now.
Actually, Delia gives herself away even before the dedication. You only have to look at the cover to see she is out to get us. The title isn't just "One is Fun", it is One is Fun!. The main colour on the cover is black. Delia herself is dressed in black and white and stands behind a hard-backed chair, resting her elbows on it. The table is laid elaborately, a single place setting with good cutlery and classic white Delft. There is one unlit white candle, and a decanter of red liquid beside a lone glass, already filled up. There are flowers in a jug and a silver tray of fruit, and Delia is smiling at the reader.
It didn't occur to me at first, but I see it now. The flowers and fruit aren't just there to look inviting, they are code for "treat the singleton like an invalid, and don't get too close". The red liquid looks more like Ribena than wine, and maybe there is a subtle hint there. Drinking on your own? Tut tut.
Her black-and-white clothes are another clue. Delia is dressed like a posh waitress, not a sad single person, because Delia will never sit down at that "single yet attractive" place setting. She doesn't have to. It is there in the dedication.
I still have the book, but it doesn't scare me any more. Not since I hacked out Delia's eyes from the cover. At least now she can't watch as I struggle to assemble, and then cope with, my attractive place setting for one.
As further payback, I take out Delia and make her eat with me, every meal. Sometimes I bring out Nigella (hair cut off) and Jamie (cold sores) and we have a dinner party. I make them play games, such as "guess who One is Fun! was really dedicated to" because recently I discovered that Delia is married to a man called Michael Wynn-Jones, not Michael I. This is fun, but Delia talks too much and her favourite topic is my cooking. Crucially, she has discovered my inability to follow instructions - for instance, my refusal to "stir once" - and she gives me an earful about this. I tell her I am trying to develop my own cooking style, and that stirring makes me calm, but she isn't convinced. So her mouth is going next. None of us wants Delia to have the last laugh.
Next week: Getting a buzz out of living alone
