But one time when living alone is decidedly not ideal is when you are sick.
I don't get knocked down by illness very often. (And, if we're completely honest, I can be a bit smug about that fact. I know, I know...) But when I do get sick, I'm like a man. I'm convinced my flus are at least ten times worse than everyone elses. Right? They have to be. Because as I'm laying on the couch surrounded by tissues and Vicks vapour-rub, I think it can't be that anyone else has ever felt quite this bad. (Did I also mention I'm a Grade A wimp?)
And so it goes that I end up putting my my sore throat and achy head into Google until I find some potentially deadly illness that begins with a few innocent, flu-like symptoms. I blame the fact that when you live alone, there is no-one to step in and tell you that you're talking nonsense. No-one to go to the chemist. Or make chicken soup. Or put clean sheets on the bed. Or, you know, just generally keep an eye open overnight to check that I'm still breathing.
I'm sure once I'm fighting fit again, I'll go right back to being quietly chuffed that I can get up and do laundry at 6am on a Saturday without anyone batting an eyelid – but right now, I wouldn't mind another person. Just to put their hand on my forehead and check for a temperature. And maybe tell me they're pretty sure it's not Ebola.