After years as a social pariah, I’m now in demand – because I am not single!

• This week UK writer Sudi Pigott opens up about how a relationship changed her 
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Something joyful has happened to my weekends, and it is as unexpected as it is welcome. I am suddenly juggling invitations again — a lot of them — to supper, to meet friends for jazz, for weekends away to the Cotswolds and the seaside, and even to the South of France.

I must admit that as a 50-something, I believed the dinner party scene had disappeared — another victim of fast culture perhaps, or Covid.

So I was resigned to Fridays in front of the TV, quiet Saturdays catching up on work, Sundays pottering around alone or occasionally with family.

So what has changed, you might wonder? Is it a sleek new wardrobe that’s rendered me social catnip? Have I taken a YouTube course on titillating small talk? Nope, it seems it is nothing to do with me per se: it’s my ‘plus one’.

Because the only thing different about me is that I have coupled up. And, it seems, hand-in-hand with a new beau, comes an upgrade from a weekday-only friend to a social butterfly.

This week UK writer Sudi Pigott opens up about how her relationship with Stephen changed her. Both pictured

But while I am delighted to be back in the fold, I remain sad and furious that single women are so excluded from the social scene of those who have permanent partners.

In my many years in the single desert, it seemed not to occur to my couple friends to make plans with me as a single woman at the weekend, even if they were having a group of our mutual friends over for supper.

It was truly hurtful. Besides, I would ruminate, I can make lively enough conversation for two, am often a good source of gossip — and I bring good desserts.

Yet, weekends seemed sacrosanct for couples. As a single woman, I was relegated to weekday meet-ups where they whined about partners, while they were regaled with my dating mishaps.

I didn’t want catch-ups on a Tuesday; I hankered after Saturday night supper parties for six.

I met Stephen, 59, a lovely, deep-thinking writer, after more than a decade of on-off internet dating, and relationships that, at best, petered out after several months.

We’ve now been together for a good 18 months after he charmed me with his kindness, quirky humour and love of the arts. And it is surely no coincidence that this year, I’ve had more invitations than I can remember. Both from long-coupled friends and — perhaps even more thrillingly — from new couples we’ve met together.

I’d railed against my humble status as the weekday friend when I was at my lowest and was convinced I’d never meet anyone.

I found myself trailing along with Mum and Dad to garden open days so that I had a plan and, fortunately, I did enjoy their company. However, my mum must have got bored of my moaning about being left high and dry at weekends.

Single London friends, of course, were happy to meet up on a Friday or Saturday evening, but I didn’t have so many of them and they tended to make their plans weeks ahead to save themselves from likely solitary confinement. I’d even challenged a few of my coupled-up friends on my sad state. They were adamant the weekend ban wasn’t a deliberate policy yet, mostly, they mysteriously seemed always to be busy if I suggested anything.

They would initiate meeting up during the week, when I often had a lot of evening work commitments. It made me feel second rate and under-appreciated.

I’ve never quite understood if it was born out of simply liking even numbers around the table, feeling embarrassed they had a pariah single friend, or maybe their partners weren’t keen on my company.

Did they think I might expose anxieties about their relationship or make single life sound too enticing? Were they convinced I would make off with one of their partners? Whatever their reasons, it all made me feel horribly neglected.

And, it seems, hand-in-hand with a new beau, comes an upgrade from a weekday-only friend to a social butterfly. Stock image used

You might wonder why I didn’t throw my own soirees — well I did. Couples were, mostly, happy to accept invitations to mine and I was happy entertaining alone, though it was hard work doing everything from the shopping and prep to the washing up solo.

The worst bit, though, was the gutted feeling I experienced when my guests didn’t subsequently invite me back to their homes.

One of the worst offenders was someone who’d actually met her partner at one of my parties ten years ago. He’d tagged along as the almost ex of another friend. Although I’d met up with my friend frequently before they got together, she never asked me to join them once they were a couple.

Eventually, when I asked her why that was, she said he was embarrassed to meet up because I was friends with his ex.

I found this utterly pathetic and said so. Now I rarely see her. One friend told me about her informal dining-out club with a group of friends and their husbands, and I was even cheekily used for advice about where they should go — but I was never asked to join them.

That made me feel truly hung out to dry as an old maid with little to add to a fun evening out.

However, now I’ve been in a relationship for a year and a half, I’ve seen it from the other side.

Of course, there is the curiosity factor among my long-standing friends. I’d only introduced one other boyfriend to a couple of my pals and neither took to him.

Possibly because I’ve been single for so long, everyone has been keen to meet Stephen. Absurdly, we’re now booking into mid-August. Better still, everyone likes him: he is charming, funny, well-read, cultured and kind; we are palpably happy together.

Then there is the unimagined bonus of making new couple friends, which is exhilarating. I am frankly rather amazed to realise my friendship group is having a new growth spurt.

A lovely neighbour mentioned me to one of her customers, who then generously messaged me to invite me to her supper club.

Hilariously, and perhaps what sealed our friendship, Stephen and I arrived a week early for the supper club and accidentally gatecrashed their drinks with friends.

Ever hospitable, they insisted we join them and a lively hour or so later we bid them a sheepish farewell. A week later, at the actual supper club, we sat with two couples who, like us, were also very into wine and food.

I was amazed when Stephen got a message the next day from one of the chaps, an IT entrepreneur, inviting us to dinner as he had enjoyed the evening so much.

I admit it was rather different with my ex-husband. He was much liked but was shy and came across as rather aloof. Our friends tended to be my friends and he was bad at keeping up with his old friends, let alone forging new friendships.

I have a pact with myself now that when we invite our captivating new friends (and my old ones) over, there will always be a place for some interesting and gregarious solos around the table.

I am adamant I’ll never put my single female friends in the same, weekends-off-limits box that I experienced so painfully. Though, I may playfully invite a single male friend of Stephen’s, too!

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