ALEXANDRA SHULMAN’S NOTEBOOK: The house is spick and span – so why am I so fed up? 

There’s something different about my house. It contains only me. My boyfriend David is away on a work trip and my son recently moved out into his own place.

It’s not the spending time alone that’s weird, but being in this particular space alone. I’ve been unprepared for how strange the rooms feel, as if my surroundings have a filter on them which makes them appear just that bit unusual.

When you live with other people, you take for granted their presence. There are the sounds as they move about: a kettle boiling downstairs, the loo flushing, the banging of the front door, the muffled words of their voice while on the phone.

When you live with other people, you take for granted their presence. There are the sounds as they move about: a kettle boiling downstairs, the loo flushing, the banging of the front door, the muffled words of their voice while on the phone

Such activities are aural wallpaper, the background to the day. But without them the space is noisily silent. Birdsong sounds louder, with no competition. An altercation in the street seems closer than normal.

Nothing moves unless you move it yourself – the rooms are set in aspic: no coffee cups left lying around, no clothes dumped in the laundry bin, no biscuit wrappers on the kitchen counter. It’s spooky.

For many years, I was the one who frequently spent time away – coming back to complain about dead flowers left in the vase or a broken lightbulb not replaced. But now I’m the one left behind alone, my footsteps echoing around the place.

Waking in the morning with nobody either next to me or padding around in the kitchen is rather pleasant.

I’m loving being able to switch on the radio while I’m lying in bed, and there’s something peaceful about making a coffee alone to greet the day, especially during sunny mornings.

But as the hours pass, time alone becomes less appealing. There is no one to listen to my grumbles about an email I have received, or share a small triumph, or to tell me to relax if I get worked up about something or other. There is no one to share tasks with, or to nag about the bins or the catfood or a diary date.

Evenings are way too long without a companion, and the dark hours before dawn even less pleasant than usual to inhabit alone.

This reaction to my solitary state somewhat shocks me.

I don’t consider myself a dependent person and for years I lived contentedly alone before marriage and children. But, clearly, I’ve become inculcated into coupledom. The indulgence and freedom of hanging out on my own at home are less pleasurable than I expected. Anyway, it’s not for very long. David returns in a week or so and I am hoping the visa for the Ukrainian refugee couple we have invited into our home will come through so they can join us. And, no doubt soon, I’ll be craving 24 hours with just my own company.

Panic over – my vodka’s Latvian

Poor old Loro Piana. The upmarket, hugely expensive and utterly covetable Italian clothing brand has been getting shtick after Vladimir Putin was spotted wearing one of its £10,000 jackets.

His choice was no surprise as all the big-name brands have been hugely reliant on Russian customers for years.

But now that most oligarchs have gone to ground, there’s not much opportunity to eye them in their Moncler puffas, or touting their Dior bags and Balenciaga trainers.

Poor old Loro Piana. The upmarket, hugely expensive and utterly covetable Italian clothing brand has been getting shtick after Vladimir Putin was spotted wearing one of its £10,000 jackets

Even so, to be on the safe side, many brands are doing their utmost to distance themselves from the Russians they have relied on.

This wariness has trickled down to the high end of the beauty business. A hair colourist I know, who has just flown to the Maldives to attend to the locks of one of his regular Russian clients, is telling everyone it’s his last such trip – despite this personal attention making up a chunk of his earnings.

Of course, it’s unfair to tarnish all Russians with the actions of their awful leader but the qualms about all things Russian are contagious. As I unpacked my shopping the other day, I suddenly worried about the Stolichnaya vodka.

Was I bankrolling the Russian regime? Phew – panic over. The label’s small print said that it was Latvian. I’ve never been more relieved to see the name Riga.

A bad workman blames… the sun

The glorious sunshine has been good news for most people, but not, I suspect, for anyone renovating a house. My personal survey shows that almost all construction workers in London have downed their tools to bask like cats outside building sites.

Thankfully for those hoping to get refurbishment work finished, the balmy rays are due to disappear imminently.

Mother’s Day just plays with the mind

Mother’s Day is a particularly annoying institution. Just like Halloween and Valentine’s Day, it’s now a marketing exercise for gifts and cards that’s hard to escape.

I don’t feel it necessary to care much about Mother’s Day. In particular, I don’t want to subliminally expect some kind of loving gesture from my child (which I almost certainly won’t receive), and which I will then (even though I don’t want to care) slightly mind about not getting.

Madeleine sent her message by brooch

Madeleine Albright, the former US Secretary of State who died last week, was famous not only for her diplomacy but for her collection of brooches. One depicted the Three Wise Monkeys (See No Evil, Hear No Evil and Speak No Evil) and she wore it on her lapel to meet Putin to discuss human rights violations in Chechnya.

I wonder what brooch she would have chosen to wear had she met him today?

Madeleine Albright, the former US Secretary of State who died last week, was famous not only for her diplomacy but for her collection of brooches

Gulp! Pizza night now costs £160

A bill of £160 for a bottle of wine and two pizzas struck me as excessive the other night. As did prices on the wine list at another local joint, starting at £42 a bottle. Why the sudden huge hike in restaurant wine prices? It’s one of the few things that can’t be blamed on the Ukraine war, surely? And it can’t be Brexit, as English wines are just as pricey.