The smug and single swap

Smug: Melanie with 'hubby' Tom
13 April 2012

A new survey reveals that single women have more freedom, but are lonely. But is it all roses and candlelight for the smug marrieds? Emily Sheffield (married) and Melanie Rickey (single) swapped places for the night to find out.

Single for the night

Emily Sheffield, 30, a journalist, has been married for a year to Tom and lives in Shepherd's Bush

For 24 hours I am to rejoin the 7.5 million Britons who live on their own, to be single again and forgo my cosy marital state. I was only told this at lunchtime; I had planned a night on the sofa watching ER (or the football, depending on who won the argument), enjoying a supper cooked by my husband. Instead, I need to make arrangements quick or I'm going to be spending the night in the pub on my own.

Fortunately, my singleton swapper, Mel, has given me her ticket to the opening of Alexander McQueen's shop on Bond Street. But what to wear? Parties seem less tempting when you're not on the look-out for a man, so my cupboard is depressingly bare of gorgeous frocks.

As a glam singleton, Mel says she has hundreds of outfits I can borrow. My sister Alice, 24, suggests I need a haircut if I'm going to be single again, slyly adding that my style has recently become a tad middle-aged. She sends me to her hairdresser in Covent Garden and I emerge with a spiky, chunky bob which makes me look younger. I also had to get my legs waxed (hubby never notices).

By now it's 6pm and I have to be in Bond Street by 7.30pm. I hurry to Mel's pad in Bayswater, which will be my home for one night. Apparently, singletons spend less time doing housework, so I'm surprised at how tidy the apartment is. However, it doesn't really feel like home; it has bare walls, a desk, computer and futon.

The fridge contains only coffee, milk and champagne. Just as well I never like eating alone. In contrast, her wardrobe is overflowing and the bathroom is littered with beauty products. I decide not to hang around, slip on a Chanel shirt and miniskirt, and call a cab.

At Bond Street, all my friends are inside but a stern blonde in a gold cape is refusing me access; she says I look nothing like Mel. Now what am I meant to do? I don't want to go and sit in Mel's flat - the television doesn't work.

Fortunately, two single girlfriends are in their local back in Notting Hill. I get in my second taxi of the night as I don't fancy getting on the Tube alone in a skirt this short.

I still haven't eaten and it's 9.45pm. We agree to share a curry - I'm now behaving like a tragic typical singleton. Soon I'll start a diary. My friends want an early night, so I end up having a drink by myself in Harry's Social Club, Mel's local bar. I half expect to get chatted up, but everyone seems too engrossed in their own conversations. I creep back to the flat at 11pm, feeling depressed.

I sleep well, happy to have a double bed to myself, but when I wake there is no one to talk to, just the radio. Still, I get to enjoy a huge breakfast at Mel's home from home, the Organic Store, without Tom trying to steal my bacon. And later that day, when I get back, two more party invites have arrived in the post.

After that one night, I have no desire to be single again, but it has reminded me that marital bliss can soon lead to marital boredom if you don't remember to make the effort to go out alone. And I envy that old excitement of dressing up, wondering if tonight you are going to meet "the one". But more often than not being single means the day ends with just you and the TV. I prefer to be cuddled up to a warm human being.

A wife for the night

Melanie Rickey, 30, a fashion writer, has been single for two years and lives in Bayswater

My day started like any other with a jog around Hyde Park, and a visit to my local coffee shop. Just as I was deciding what to wear to Alexander McQueen's store opening party that night I was asked to ditch my single life and spend 24 hours being wife to Emily Sheffield's husband, Tom. Me, a wife?

As a singleton, my lifestyle has become a demographic cliché. In a new survey, single equals freedom, with a bit of loneliness thrown in. This is true. I can do exactly what I want, when I want. Sure I get bored and lonely, but I'm not under any illusions. Married people get bored and lonely, too. I am not desperate for domesticity or to have someone "on tap" to discuss my worries or gripes. I deal with them myself. Still, this is a unique opportunity to check out the other side.

I start with the mundanities and call Tom, who is an actor (and no doubt perfectly able to pretend I am his wife for the day), to discuss dinner. We decide we have enough food in to cobble together a yummy pasta, which means no supermarket visit (phew), but we do need wine so Tom offers to pick up a Pouilly Fume from down the road.

I throw on my Earl jeans, and don't bother with hair and make-up and head "home" - to a gorgeous flat on a suburban road in Shepherd's Bush, with two cute cats called Princess and Bruiser and a wellmaintained patio with a barbecue.

It's calm, homely and settled. The fridge is stocked with fresh produce. Nothing like my place, which is more like an office with a bedroom attached than a home.

As Tom expertly rustles up the pasta, the photographer arrives and Tom says, "Have you met my wife?" with a cheeky smirk. Being described as a wife feels like a portcullis coming down with a thud.

We look at our options for the evening. Tom wants to see X-Men 2 at the local cinema, but it starts at 9pm and lasts 123 minutes. Too long. I veto that. We check out TV listings. ER is on. Good.

This will give us something to do, and we won't have to talk much - and isn't that what married couples avoid doing? We eat delicious food and talk about our respective days. Tom has an audition the following morning, and he's slightly stressed.

We talk about the up-and-down nature of our careers and discuss the cat, Princess, who has become the household diva since her brother, Bruiser, had to go to hospital with a urinary infection.

I can't believe I'm sat here discussing a cat's urinary infection. I try to give Bruiser a bit of love. He eyes me suspiciously.

Princess is parading up and down by her food bowl, so I feed the cats - Emily's job. I Hoover the cat fluff up - also Emily's job. ER comes on. During an ad break I stack the dishwasher, and wash up the utensils. Just writing this feels like watching paint dry.

That's the point of marriage and domesticity I suppose. It's boring but weirdly comforting. After an hour and a half of telly, I realise being married is making me feel sleepy and lazy. Or am I a bit drunk on Pouilly Fume and nervous that I have to stay the night? I shyly suggest it's bedtime at 11pm. Tom shyly nods and I head up to the bathroom.

Emily thankfully shares my taste for Aveda products. I peep into the bedroom where I see that Tom is reading A Man in Full by Tom Wolfe and Emily's book is The Little Friend by Donna Tartt.

They also have photos from their wedding on the bedside table. Cute. Beside my bed at home is a nail-filing kit and a bottle of contact lens solution. I sleep on the sofa and wake at 6.30am, keen to leave. I make coffee for Tom, leave a note and go for a run before work. Conclusion? I know I will be with the person I love one day, and I know we will live something like this. Until then I'm happy to postpone the inevitable.

And what the husband thought...

Having a new wife for the evening was not exactly what I had in mind when I woke up. Although marrieds aren't as boring as everyone makes out, I was quite looking forward to a quiet night in. Whereas Emily and I just tend to hang out together, my new "wife" Melanie was more twitchy and restless, constantly checking her messages and chatting to girlfriends on her mobile.

We had some wine. Melanie guzzled hers even quicker than my wife. Even though she seemed at a loose end, I refused help in the kitchen, suspicious that as a single girl she would be a bit useless. She tried to play some music, but couldn't master the stereo, made a pathetic attempt at hoovering up and fed the cats far too much food.

She was very sweet asking about my audition and we chatted about our day. I wanted to watch X-Men 2 (Emily has refused so far) at the local cinema but Melanie didn't want to go, put her foot down and then took control of the remote and forced me to watch ER. Even my wife doesn't get her own way that much. I suppose Melanie's not used to sharing.

She slept on the sofa and was gone when I woke up, leaving me fresh coffee on the kitchen table and a note thanking me for my hospitality. Obviously I prefer my wife but it was a nice respite from her nagging and I got to eat my bacon sandwich without her begging for a bite.

Create a FREE account to continue reading

eros

Registration is a free and easy way to support our journalism.

Join our community where you can: comment on stories; sign up to newsletters; enter competitions and access content on our app.

Your email address

Must be at least 6 characters, include an upper and lower case character and a number

You must be at least 18 years old to create an account

* Required fields

Already have an account? SIGN IN

By clicking Create Account you confirm that your data has been entered correctly and you have read and agree to our Terms of use , Cookie policy and Privacy policy .

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Thank you for registering

Please refresh the page or navigate to another page on the site to be automatically logged in