WELL, what a kerfuffle. Last week's column either struck a chord or touched a nerve with you lot out there.

The letters and emails flooded in from sympathisers or the outraged after I'd opened up on the subject of loneliness. All I said was that I'd rather have my armpits waxed than eat out alone or go on holiday by myself.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I hate it, too. But at least I've got a small son to keep me company," said one divorced lady.

Another said it was all right for men. At least they could go into a pub on their own. Even today, when women went into a pub they were seen as either harlots or a target for predatory men (her words not mine, before you storm the office with banners and petrol bombs).

A touching message came from a lady who was widowed quite young and insisted I could do things on my own if I had to. I did have to once. I well remember the horrid, dark days of being a widower with a nine-year-old daughter; long, lonely evenings in the triple role of mum, dad and baby sitter - and feeling a social pariah when I did venture out alone.

But enough of that. Back to this lady's note: "Most of my friends have partners and families to go on holiday with, or do not want to go the same kind of places as me. So, unless I was willing to be brave and go alone I might never have been to Europe, Africa, America and all the places I have visited.

"If you have a partner who wants to do the same things as you then you are lucky, it's much more difficult being a 'people person' without one!"

She closed by suggesting I come up with ideas for those in their 'middle youth' who are unattached.

It depends what people are looking for, really, but here goes: What about singles night down at the supermarket? Just shove that trolley until you catch someone's eye, check out their basket's contents for reasonable eating and drinking habits and the possibilities are boundless. Maybe not.

Dating agency? I've heard too many stories of excruciating embarrassment and dashed hopes.

What about a holiday club, where unattached folk get together regularly to discuss their favourite destinations, look at holiday videos and brochures and see if they hit it off well enough to all venture abroad - or to the Norfolk Broads - together?

Dining clubs might be the answer to avoid the awful experience of eating out alone. Again, single folk can advertise for fellow gourmets to meet up and dine in company - en masse if they like, anything but being tucked away in that corner table all alone.

I mentioned eating out last week, but what about eating in on your lonesome?

You spend hours buying ingredients, preparing and cooking a meal - all the time talking to yourself and criticising your own culinary skills - then it's all devoured in a flash, on your knee, in front of the telly. And it's always followed by as much washing up as for a family of four.

Incidentally, by pure coincidence, we watched Tom Hanks' film, Castaway, for the umpteenth time last week. This is a story of ultimate loneliness: an air crash victim marooned - alone - on a deserted island. For four years he talks to himself, eats alone, paints a face on a football and calls it Wilson, then makes him his best friend.

He removes his own rotten tooth - without anaesthetic - catches his own food, creates fire without a match or lighter, and (God forbid) endures life without TV. And there's not a soul around for him to complain to or laugh with.

Surely that puts my pathetic groaning into perspective. I'll never complain again, about anything, ever - honest.

Updated: 09:13 Tuesday, November 29, 2005