stigmata: "A mark or token of infamy, disgrace, or reproach".

One of the less obvious problems with my new found single status is that of food. I adore cooking; although it was part of that whole "looking after" thing that seemed to grate so badly. Now, as I walk around Waitrose at odd times of the day I realise that food is simply not aimed at the single person.

The shelves are scattered with ready meals for one, in odd shapes and flavours; the placement of a Birds Eye "Turkey Dinner" in your basket surely signifies a culinary suicide that should mark the end of any attempt to eat properly. Attendant to filling a basket with such products is the surrender to the sympathetic gaze of young mothers who look in your basket, then look at you with this strange look somewhere midway between pity and horror. Or perhaps that's just the reaction I garner. Any attempt to gather ingredients, as opposed to the pabulum the chill cabinet offers, ends up in wastage. The freezer acts simply as a waste disposal delay, offering up that second chicken breast you froze an indeterminate length of time ago, which then ends up defrosting in the bin.

I believe some supermarkets have singles nights; the very idea strikes me with horror as I image people pulling mismatched ingredients off the shelves in a effort to impress the hottie in aisle 3, or giving into their shame and simply selecting a Pot Noodle and hurrying off before someone notices.

Still, there's always crisps and wine for sustenance this evening. White wine with Prawn Cocktail, obviously. Anyone for dinner?