Alone on Valentine’s? Good — Here’s where to go on a solo trip

Three in five Brits (61%) will celebrate Valentine’s Day in 2025. But what about the other two? Wallowing in self-pity, with “Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime” by Beck on repeat? Literally anything by Elliot Smith is good for a pity party, come to think of it. Really, though, it doesn’t have to be like that. And with Londoners spending an average of seventy quid on the day in question, you should consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to fork out cash on a relationship that might not even work out. What I’m getting at is that you should use your hard-earned money on yourself — you should get the hell out of the city, and do some solo travel. Because you’re worth it! Low and behold, here’s our guide on where to head, and what to do while you’re there. 

Brixham

This is one for the caff kids who don’t have a caff kid beau yet. What do I mean by that? I’m talking about that genre of people, usually found in east London, who go to salt of the earth establishments (greasy spoons and even greasier boozers) and hang out there in a performative way — you know the type. Anyway, Brixham will cater to that bunch in the sense that it’s a bit rough around the edges, yet bloody beautiful. Head down on a train from London (it’s about a three hour journey), check into the Berry Head Hotel, then forgo any “posh” restaurants for The Blue Anchor, which serves up both pub grub and its fair share of characters. Then, if you can brave it, get up early doors the next day and head to Fishcombe Cove for a dip. It looks quite Mediterranean — if you squint a bit. 

Hay-on-Wye

Books are romantic. That’s a fact. Having a boyfriend, however, actually prevents you from hitting your Goodreads goals. Goodreads is, by the way, really good (*wink*) and definitely doesn’t make the very pure act of reading all gamified and horrible. Back to the point, though. Just four hours from London is a lovely little place called Hay-on-Wye, the famed market town that’s home to over twenty bookshops. Check into one of the many hotels that look like they could be haunted, buy yourself a couple (or twelve) books that you can performatively read on the tube, then have a go at the Wye Valley Walk. Take in the rolling hills, all while pondering why exactly you can’t secure yourself a life partner… Okay, maybe head back to the bookshops. 

Margate 

Taking a trip to Margate over the Valentine’s weekend is actually planning for your future — it’s giving you a taste of what it’ll be like when you eventually move down there having concluded that London’s dating pool is the problem. Because it definitely couldn’t be you, could it? Anyway, get yourself on the train, check into the Fort Road Hotel – which has sea views that you can look upon wistfully – then head to Haeckels for a little spa treatment of your choice. Your sad-solo-dinner-spot will be Dory’s, which does seafood small plates, then you’ll spend Sunday at the town’s great selection of vintage shops, buying pointless shit to make the pain go away.  

Broadstairs 

We’ve heard that Broadstairs is the new Margate. Why exactly? Probably because too many former-Londoners moved down there, then decided it wasn’t special anymore, then had to do a mass exodus to another seaside town that they can ramble on about while filling it up with small plates restaurants, “concept” homeware stores, and wine bars. Something like that, anyway. Broadstairs is nice, though. If we were to pop down there on our ones, we’d stay at The Yarrow Hotel, which has a very swinger-esque looking jacuzzi situation, then head to Bar Ingo for dinner and wine. And, who knows? Maybe when you’re three glasses of natural wine deep, you’ll pluck up the confidence to ask that stylish older couple if they’d like to come and give the dodgy-looking jacuzzi a go. Then you can become embroiled in some odd psychosexual throuple — at least it’s better than being single.

Rye 

If Broadstairs and Margate are the Tipping Point of southern seaside towns, Rye is the Pointless — it’s refined. It’s for the upper echelon. It’s brilliant. How to do it exactly? Stay at The George in Rye, grab dins at The Standard Inn (where they do a mean pie), then make your final stop of the night either The Winery, or Rye Waterworks Micropub. The former is all natural wines and good-looking bar staff (the crème de la crème of Rye’s younger population), while the latter is more dogs on bar stools and farmers playing a game that involves throwing a penny into a hole. The next day, it’s time to use your Salomons for their actual purpose and do the cross-country walk from Rye to Hastings. When you get there, make a beeline for The True CRIME Museum. That way, you’ll end your weekend away with a reminder that the human population is truly fucked, and no one is to be trusted.