Esther McCarthy: The most luxurious gift of all? Time alone

Despite all the craving, 83% of women say actually getting hold of alone time is difficult for them

One in six women admitted to faking a supermarket run purely to get a few minutes of peace in the car.

Two hours and 15 minutes. That’s the official, expert-backed, scientifically- arrived-at amount of alone time a woman needs each day to properly recharge, according to a new survey; 60% of women, the same survey found, feel guilty even asking for it.

Now, I get a lot of emails involving sparkly surveys, usually funded by a company that has something to gain from the findings and is trying to sell us something. For example, a fake tan company will reveal nine out of 10 women surveyed say they feel healthier with bronzed-looking skin. No kidding, gasp, for realsies, mister?

So my finger hovered over the delete button as I skimmed a recent email commissioned by — wait for it — a wine company — on the subject of alone time. I imagined it would reveal a scintillating statistic ending with me feeling an overwhelming urge to crack open a bottle of chardonnay. Something like: “Experts discover 97% of women declare they’d prefer to be shit-faced alone on a Friday night shouting at the telly, than spend it with their ungrateful families.”

But I ended up reading the whole thing, and it really resonated; see what you think. So, it’s based on a UK-wide poll of 2,000 British women, and 41% of them said they long for solitude every day. My English sisters, I hear ye.

Despite all that craving, 83% of women say actually getting hold of alone time is another matter. No wonder. Look at us: Modern life has women juggling work; family; pets; caring duties; play dates; running the house; remember to pay every insurance — car, home, travel, medical, vet; answering the 12-billionty group chats; synchronising everyone’s calendar; remembering ALL THE BIRTHDAYS; forcing the cat to take it’s worm medicine; remembering to water the plants BEFORE they wilt accusingly, the drama queens; reminders about meds and vitamins and sun screen and clean jocks; looking after our vagina, which I’ve mentioned here before IS A FULL-TIME JOB; protecting against the manosphere, getting constant blood tests to check on hormones so we can maintain the correct level of oestrogen thereby avoiding stabby urges; making sure there is at least six litres of milk in the house for fear they will go to the fridge and find NO MILK there kicking off a chain reaction of such dramatic dissonance it creates deep within a visceral loathing of calcium and cows, quite unfairly, and has you up googling osteopenia in the middle of the night; leaving clues to yourself where the spare everything is; liking everyone’s stuff on social media; deleting all the apps for being time-sucks and then trying to find the clue you left yourself with your log in details because you can’t remember anything because actually the hormones don’t appear to be that balanced and you worry the brain fog might be early onset dementia; researching Alzheimers and peri-menopause; and that’s before you think about all the other invisible admin of just ... keeping yourself and your loved ones half fed and un-stabbed by you.

The survey said that chores eat into downtime for 55% of women, cooking dinner rules out relaxation for 43% of women, 41% blamed the washing, and 36% of those surveyed said — wait till ye hear this — the vacuuming eats into their alone time. Just turn it on, let it make the noise, and then read your book in the toilet. Duh.

Or get one of those robot yokiemebobs. Yes, it is probably only a matter of time before it becomes sentient and sucks your eyeballs out in revenge for the bastarding moulting cat horror it’s had to endure, but it’s worth the gamble.

But, back to bonding with our Sasanaigh sistren, because nearly a quarter of them said the real obstacle to switching off is a partner who is just there, you know the way they go on, breathing, existing in the same room. Others blamed packed social calendars, needy pets, and the exhausting business of being the person everyone else offloads onto.

One in six admitted to faking a supermarket run purely to get a few minutes of peace in the car. Sure haven’t we all been there? Parked up outside the big Dunnes, seat in recline position, radio off, just staring into space for half an hour before sighing and traipsing in for the five three-litres of full-fat white gold.

And nearly a third confessed to going to bed “early”, mockeyah because they’re tired, but if they’re anything like us, it’s really just to have the bed to themselves, fart-free for a bit.

A spokesperson for Andrew Peace Wines, which commissioned the research, said: “Our research shows women aren’t asking for luxury; they’re simply craving a little uninterrupted time to unwind, rest, reset, and recharge without guilt.”

AKA — buy our mind-numbing elixir. You won’t feel anything at all; just take a little sip, and oblivion awaits.

I’ll take two hours and 15 minutes in a suburban car park instead, thank you very much.