Theatrical pursuits... on the (preferably solitary) trail of the performers at Punchdrunk's promenade production of Faust. Photograph: Stephen Dobbie
Call me antisocial, but I really love going to the theatre on my own. It's not just the theatre that I prefer - I like my movies and art galleries solo, too. I've never really understood the pleasure of taking your art in a crowd, and even as a teenager a great deal of my theatre and movie viewing took place unaccompanied, largely because few of my friends had quite my levels of enthusiasm for the theatre or films, or the same levels of stamina. I sometimes think that part of my affection for Edinburgh lies in a six-shows-a-day regime that recalls my early 20s in London, when a perfect day would be an afternoon matinee, followed by a movie, followed by an evening theatre visit.
I like the unfettered freedom of going to the theatre on my own and the fact that I have absolutely no responsibility for somebody else's good time. You can simply concentrate quite selfishly on what you're seeing - eyes fixed on the body language of the actors on stage rather than the body language of the person in the seat next to you as you try to work out whether picking their nose or leaning forward is a sign of approval or disapproval of the play. Etiquette dictates that critics don't discuss that evening's play for fear of influencing each other, but it's a rare critic who doesn't unconsciously betray what he or she thinks through body language and personal tics. (In my case, I'm sorry to admit, I chew my fingernails).
Theatre, it is often claimed, is a shared experience, but I have never felt the slightest need to hold somebody else's hand in the dark while I'm experiencing it. It would only be a distraction. Sure, sometimes when you've seen something that either thrills you or infuriates you're bursting to talk about it and exchange views.
Occasionally these conversations can really clarify what you think (I only realised my real passion for Forced Entertainment's The World in Pictures when faced with a friend's lukewarm response), but in reality such conversations often simply dwindle away as you turn to more pressing matters such as whether you're going to go for an Italian or Chinese. Often I don't really know what I think about a play until the moment that I sit down alone in front of the computer to write about it. Writing clarifies in a way that talking about a show doesn't. Sometimes, I surprise myself with what emerges when I write, when I didn't have a clue what I really thought about it before. I really love those moments.
In fact the proliferation of new forms of theatre means that going in a twosome or a gaggle is increasingly a hindrance to getting the most out of a show. Large amounts of live art now rely entirely on the intimate interaction between a solo performer and a solo audience, and taking a friend to one of Punchdrunk's promenade performances means that you will spend as much time keeping tabs on each other as you do on the performers who you have to chase over five floors of a derelict warehouse. In this instance two isn't company, it means half the experience because, just as travelling alone abroad makes you connect with local people and local culture, you're more likely to engage with an interactive show such as Faust if you're all on your tod. I'd recommend it every time.
