Loneliness is a training course in Leicester

The art of being lonely: “Table for one please,” I said as I looked around an empty restaurant. It was Monday night in Leicester at about a quarter-to-eight.

“Sit where you want,” said the waiter, with a knowing and sympathetic smile.

I’ll sit by the big window, I thought, so I can watch the world go by. But I soon realised the world could also watch me.

The waiter was keen to take my order — prawns to start and carbonara for mains. I had a pint of lager as well and drank it quicker than usual.

A gaggle of women toddled in on high heels, all dressed up for a big night out. They looked at me. I stared at my pint. They looked again and in unison said: “Aww” and “bless”.

I should have brought a newspaper, I thought. I could have been reading a newspaper. I felt the raised shapes on my pint glass with my thumbs and read the small print on the beer mat below it. It said, “He who hath no friends, hath no life.”

The starter eventually arrived, something to eat but also something to do. I got stuck in but then slowed down. Don’t finish too quickly, I thought, you’ll be back to square one.

As soon as my knife and fork touched the table, the waiter was on to me. He sensed there was a need for urgency.

The main arrived in seconds and delicious it was too. I didn’t hang around waiting for parmesan and pepper and dismantled the spaghetti with military precision.

::looked out of the window at the passing cars and flashing lights. People looked at me through the glass and I looked back through them as if my mind was busy with something important.

::finished at a pace, like a sprinter going well past the line. The waiter was there to cheer me on. “No coffee please,” I beamed, “I’ll just have the bill.”

::walked back to the hotel, noticing the pattern of the flags on the pavement. I concentrated on not stepping on the edges. Two young men in hooded tops walked past and I put my hand on the phone in my pocket.

The door of my hotel room clicked shut behind me and I sat on the pristine bed. It was silent but for the wind whistling. It began whistling past the window and then it momentarily ran out of breath.

::picked up my phone and rang home. I needed a conversation with someone I loved.

They said: “Can you ring back after Coronation Street?”


Next week: The art of winning the World Cup