What are the dangers of being lonely? Or should we embrace it?

But in the meantime these two particular books got me to thinking about whether there'll be an influx of books about loneliness post pandemic. While many people, usually those cooped up with spouses and children or flatmates they would normally never see, are complaining about being cooped up during lockdown, for those of us who live more solitary lives, the isolation has meant a completely different thing. We spend the majority of our lives in isolation, perhaps leaving if we're lucky for socially distanced catch-ups with friends or family, or we might play one of the few sports which has returned to normal, or if our workplaces have returned to the office we might spend our working hours there before returning home to our aloneness. But does that mean we're lonely?

According to a study by the Black Dog Institute more than 50 per cent of the roughly 5000 people surveyed reported feeling lonely during the pandemic. Other research suggests one in three Australians are lonely.

But what is loneliness? Basically, it's when our social needs are unmet by the quantity and quality of our current relationships. It's completely different to being alone. We shouldn't just talk to people about getting out and about, catching up with friends etc, there is so much more at stake. Loneliness in all its permutations affects not only our day-to-day living but also our mental and physical health.

In 2018 the Australian government committed $46.1 million towards combating the issue, mainly through the aged care sector. In 2019 the British government appointed a Minister of Loneliness and even the Australian Medical Association discussed the idea of Australia following their lead.

The Black Dog Institute, and several other organisations such as Lifeline and the like, are a good source of information about ways to combat loneliness: make a real effort to contact others, even if it's the last thing you feel like doing; get creative; volunteer; join online groups; spend time with animals; get active; and seek professional help if you think you need it, perhaps even if you don't think you need it but have an inkling something is not quite right.

One thing I've learned to do is revel in my aloneness. I cook meals I like full of garlic and onion and all those other socially awkward foods. I watch television shows I like, way too much reality television, but more recently, subtitled series on SBS, old movies, things I don't have to explain to anyone, or sneak in after someone else's inane viewing is finished. I've been playing music too, discovering opera and all sorts of artists, listening loudly because I can. When we can, I'm going to start travelling to all those places I want to visit. The cold bleak highlands of Scotland where I'll hike and drink whisky; luxury resorts where I'll schlep about by the pool and sip cocktails; our own south coast where I might rent a house by the beach for months and write and walk and live on champagne and cheese. I'll do all these things because I can, and being alone means you don't have to ask anyone's permission.

Which probably brings me back to the literary beginnings of this column. Sometimes when I'm researching them, that is idly surfing the internet on some broad topic, I head off on all kinds of tangents.

Here I wondered if indeed there were any shining examples of loners in literature. Is there anything wrong with being a loner? A lot of the female protagonists in some of the greatest literature are loners. Jane Eyre, Elizabeth Bennett, Miss Havisham. Frankenstein is also monstrously lonely. As too Robinson Crusoe. Is The Little Prince a loner, what about Shakespeare's Ophelia, torn between her family and Hamlet but never really finding her place?

Such interesting people, all of them. But that said, if you are feeling lonely, reach out. And just remember, a lonely girl can be a dangerous thing.