How to fall in love (according to Mother HR)

Now my mother is not known to be the most tactful person. She doesn’t want me to be single and her tone of disappointment can be heard from thirty feet away whenever I remind her that I am still without a man. This means she now resorts to poor efforts at psychoanalysing me over the dinner table and coming up with such excellent questions as ‘Do you think you are just not trying hard enough?’ whilst I’m frantically trying to cram enough pasta into my face to avoid chewing my own tongue off in an effort to remain polite.

My dating history over the last 5 years looks a bit like this: no relationship lasting over six months yet the guy is always incredibly into me at the start whilst I’m quietly holding back. Him visiting me, bringing gifts and dinners and just general charm is always the way it goes. They want me to meet parents and friends which I dutifully do and then this is followed with comments on what a ‘keeper’ I am. A month or two later (just enough time for me to develop feelings and believe that they do care for me) I am dropped suddenly with the standard ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line. All the usual things about me being a great girlfriend (a status I did not ask for) and we would have a great relationship on paper but I’m just not the one. Fair enough.

However, Mother HR has a different take on this. She must have been analysing in her sleep to keep her from worrying about the lack of grandchildren she still has. She has noticed the pattern and wonders if they are all the same ‘type’ of man. I answer no, they were all very different and all seemed very happy.

Her next question is if I talk about ’emotional topics’ too early on. Now, I don’t know about most people, but I do think that after four months you might be allowed to discuss something other than food, silly stories and what your favourite films are. I don’t go in for big life questioning chats but I do discuss family, my dreams and things that I like. So the answer there is probably no. Most grown men should be able to branch out discussion topics after a few months.

Mother HR quickly follows this up with a carefully worded question: ‘do you think… maybe… perhaps… you might be a little bit too much of a strong character? Maybe some men might interpret that as bossy?’ WAIT. A. MINUTE. This is not the 1500’s. I’m sure women have the vote nowadays and we don’t have to sit side saddle on a horse. I give it some thought and then decide that yes, I am assertive and I do have the tendency to be bossy but when I’m with someone I will happily let them take charge, make the decisions and sometimes, God forbid, I might even get a little giggly. Is this a bad thing? What is bossy? Does she mean demanding? Does she mean high maintenance? Well, if preferring a take away and tv to a night in a posh restaurant is high maintenance then I’m guilty. My past relationships have involved nothing more than weekends in bed, the occasional walk and a few drinks out on a weekend. This doesn’t seem pressured or high maintenance to me.

Mother HR is currently over analysing due to me dating someone new. *hurrah… Angels sing… Pigs fly… Mother prematurely orders new hat* Yes, the first person in months and I have managed three dates with him. He appears to be following the usual pattern – very keen (has suggested a weekend break and asks what my mum thinks of him!), making all the effort to come and see me and also very charming. We all know the definition of madness is to keep doing the same thing but to expect different results each time. I need to break the pattern.

Through the chat with Mother HR I have come to two conclusions:

1. In the past I have been an ‘extra’ to their life and not a part of it. I didn’t make the effort to meet their friends or become something more than a weekend bit of fun. This is probably due to the fact that I didn’t feel worth more than that. I should try to make more effort this time round (suggesting things, travelling to them) but I should also try to become a part of their life more quickly. You can always judge someone better when you see different sides of them.

2. I should try to scale back the bossiness. Not change! But… Maybe be a little softer and look for a partner rather than a helper.

So date four happens on Tuesday. Let’s see how it goes. Any advice for me?

How to fall in love (according to Mother HR)

My Ex is my “top prospect” and other disasters

I have never claimed to be sane. 

I have never claimed to be aloof cool calm or calculated. Most of the time, I actually am all of the above. But my EX, we will call him Tony, had an uncanny way of bringing out the crazy in me. He pushed and pulled, he was inconsistent with his feelings and actions, and he spent 5 months repeatedly dumping and ignoring me….to come crawling back a few weeks later.

Reading this back I realise how silly I was to entertain this guy. I mean, he was an idiot. A narcissistic idiot. But you know those people in your life who just…. they just have something over you. You can write it all down in black and white and see that they are not right nor good enough for you. You can look at them through the eyes of strangers and realise that actually, they are semi attractive, not that bright, and have some massive personality flaws. But even so, this guy HAD me. I was batshit dumbstruck in love. Or at least that is what my brain chemicals would have you believe.

I don’t want to talk about our relationship too much. It could go on forever, but I needed to give you a little bit of background so that you could know why I act a bit crazy at times over this guy. And I am fully aware of it. But for some reason, powerless to stop.

He is my invisible audience most of the time. I haven’t spoken to this man in person for over a year. He wants no contact me whatsoever – which is perfectly reasonable. We are no longer together and he owes me nothing (says logic). But still, even now, when I do certain things or see certain people, he is there in my head witnessing the event. How fucking crazy is that? I think this sometimes happens to me when I feel I have been misinterpreted, misjudged or perceived the wrong way. When someones thoughts about me contradict what I know to be true about me. I guess it’s a way to comfort myself (or torture myself).

Tony has been an active member of POF recently. I made a new profile today, and straight away he is there. Bold as brass. In my ultramatch. His profile is updated. He lists the things he wants in a woman (“yet the very qualities he threw away in me!” Cries crazy heartbroken me). I look at my profile and know I am describing him also and have a moment where I feel like neither of us will ever find anyone ever again. Then I facepalm myself and snap out of it.

Stupid me decides this would be a good time to contact him and try and make light of the awkward “look we have matched!” situation. Even as I am typing I know that I am secretly glad we have matched and far more insane than I let on in my message. I know this will be another message on yet another medium that is read and ignored because, despite every bit of evidence on the contrary I refuse to accept that this guy really does not want anything to do with me. At all. Ever.

“Oh dear! This is awkward. Get off my bloody matches will you! I need a delete button J. I cant find any way to block you but I think you can once you receive a message? Perhaps you can try xxx”





He hasn’t blocked me. But nor has he responded. Why would he do either? I am a mild irritation and that is it (and a raging mentalist).

Half an hour later I decide to forget it about and check out who I should message next. There is a section on POF which lets you know who you would be most suited to out of people you have had some form of contact with. I look at the number one slot – half with glee and half with disgust.

Tony is now my “top prospect”.
Fuck my life :O

My Ex is my “top prospect” and other disasters

Top 5 (mis)matches of the week. Round 1

Here are my top five messages received this week. Reponses included. Enjoy x

1) Respectful Tony

I’m honest caring kind guy with huge heart looking for love my soul mate. I’m Tony I was raise up to love respect and honor my partner. I know these dayz it’s hard to find a faithful strong loyal guy but look one here in front of you dying to get to know you not only for your looks but the real you. maybe one day we built a family together travel frequently to exotic places Caribbean islands. get in touch if your tired of mistreatment abuse cheated and lie on.

Dear Respectful Tony.

Thank you for your kind offer to not abuse, mistreat and cheat on me. That is afterall, the only types of relationship I have ever had. I really hope you are talking metaphorically when you say you are dying to get to know me and you are currently not at my doorstep slitting your wrists. I have to inform you though that unfortunately I am against “builting” a family. I once built one from discarded meat and a heavy duty nail gun and it didn’t work out so well. I also have an allergy to the sun so the Caribbean is out. I am sorry  that I must honourably decline… Best wishes, MC

2) Peado Peter


I’m curious, do you have children?

Dear potential peadophile predator, 

Your rather instant curiosity into my immediate accessibility to vulnerable youngsters concerns me slightly. As a mother – which it clearly states on my profile if you would care to take a read – I tend not to go for men who have such an avid interest into the prepubescent children of strangers.  You are probably not a paedophile, but I think I will pass on this one. Thanks, MC

3) Generous James

wats up wanna come take u cinema and I ll come with 600 quid to take u shopping too.. Lets have fun b txt me 075**************

Dear generous man, 

Wow, from the sounds of your message and profile you must be really rich with a massive cock! Unfortunately I suffer from extreme epileptic fits and cannot attend the cinema. Do you have internet banking? Many thanks, MC

4) Anti-Grammar Gavin

oh lord, another grammar nazi…that also wants long messages.  you are cute though, i suppose…

dear man who does not appreciate any form of grammar including but not limited two use of full stops commas capitalisation and similar i apologise that my profile came across as to high brow for ewe and i also apologise on behalf of other women who are capable of using the written word too its full capability i did not realise that people found it so offensive therefore i will refrain from using any form of grammar ever again including but not limited two misusing the word where wear there their and your and you’re i have noticed in youre profile that you two have decided too purposefully speak like a creature one cell short of being an amoeba in an attempt to filter out those awful grammatically correct intellectual women how is that working out for you mc

5) The incredible shouting man




Until next time.

Mother Celibitaire

Top 5 (mis)matches of the week. Round 1

My 10 minutes on Match: How not to be a boring Bastard

This is the 5th time I have reactivated my account on Match. And everytime I do I instantly regret it. The amount of baldness. The amount of explicit narcissism. The amount of BORING FUCKING BASTARDS.

Here I give you (the ones with cocks) a speed lesson on how not to be one.

1) DON’T start a profile telling the world how incapable you are at defining your own interests

Time and time again I see profiles that start with “I am not very good at this part”, “I don’t really like talking about myself”, “Not really sure what to say here”.

Here is a tip. If you cannot fathom the motivation or enthusiasm to say anything remotely interesting or defining about yourself how the FLYING MONKEY FUCK do you expect us, women, who have to scroll through endless piles of shite just to find a man who is over 5 foot 4 and not bald to show motivation and enthusiasm to talk to you? You give us no ammo to start a conversation with you. And I would rather impale myself in the face with a flacid horse cock than start any introductory message with “Hi how are you?”. Starting a profile in this way screams that you are a) really lazy b) really insecure with no self esteem (not attractive sorry) or c) that you are indeed a boring bastard. You do not have to write an essay. Be punchy, to the point, even if you have to list keywords (which is cringey but better), please just do something else.

2) DON’T expect us to dig to Africa to find out even a scrap of information about you

If you are ever tempted to hijack the writing of a profile in favour of writing “Just ask”, or even worse “I don’t want to tell you everything here so lets just talk” STOP RIGHT NOW.

When we are scrolling through profiles we are seeking common ground. Common interests. Something that tells us we will get on, that you might make us laugh, that we might enjoy the same things. Its completely narcissistic and downright stupid to think that your image and vital statistics are enough ammo to make us send you an email. What are we going to say to you anyway? You have given us no information to go on whatsoever. It is lazy. And self indulgent. Or – you are a boring bastard.

3) DON’T slate online dating in a vain effort to look cool

You know the drill. You feel a bit weirded out perhaps by online dating. You don’t want to be judged. You are worried that it might make you look a bit fluffy. We get that. So you make your headline “Lets lie about how we met”. That will work right? Wrong. 

We are all here for the same reason. Online dating is actually pretty “hip” and common. It doesn’t make you uncool and people don’t really bat an eyelid when they discover couples have met online. In slating online dating you are slating US. It reeks of a massive ego and someone who is overly conscious of what others think. Stop being a boring bastard and embrace and commit to your decision to online date.

4) DON’T greet a potential match by asking them how they are

It usually goes like this: “Hi, how are you? Did you have a good weekend/New Year/Christmas?/What are your plans for this weekend/New Year/Christmas? Hope you are well”.

Now I don’t want to be mean here. You are being polite after all. But it just makes most women want to vomit in their own hand. 1) You do not know me for Adam, don’t speak to me for the first time like we are familiar. You don’t actually care about my weekend/christmas/New year because we have never actually spoken and I don’t really want to repeatedly tell 12 men a day “how I am”. 2) You are being a complete boring bastard. So what do you do? I will tell you what you do.

5) DO give us a a snapshot into your life

Show us what you are enthusiastic about, what your interests are. If you are funny your profile should make us laugh not make us sleep. Listing a CV of qualities you think are attractive will not work here. Be inventive, be punchy. What do you enjoy? What do you hate? What are you looking for?

If we are going to message you it will be usually because we feel we might get along with you. We feel our interests and personality would click. Give us a hand here. For example, as soon as someone mentions Zombies, comics, Science fiction or a grungy rock bar I know that there is an above average chance we will have something to chat about.

6) DO make your messages personal

Copy and paste messages never work

If it looks like there is even a remote chance that you could have bulk copied and pasted your message to 100 different women you can bet that I will not message you back because you are – you know the drill – A BORING BASTARD. If you message us we want it to be because you have read our profile and got excited about it. Messaging someone that you actually are completely incompatible with and who you have no mutual interests with,  a generic “how are you” message is not only completely pointless but fucking irritating to the receiver. Be selective. Message people because you think you might really connect rather than because their picture looks acceptable.

And finally.


I cnt b arsed 2 talk 2 sum1 who tlks like dis.

If you cannot be bothered to construct proper sentences do not ever expect a woman with a brain to respond to you.

Love and kisses

Mother Celibitaire

My 10 minutes on Match: How not to be a boring Bastard

The One Who Wanted a Wife

2014 was a year of limited dates. After the most disastrous relationship and break-up possibly imaginable, I was a little shy about dipping my feet back into the murky waters of dating and sifting through the rubbish. After a few months of singledom I decided it was time to head back out there and Tinder was my vehicle of choice. Oh, Tinder. How we love your familiar swipe motion and overwhelming amount of pictures showing men straddling sedated tigers. Anyway, I digress.

My first Tinder date of 2014 came at the end of summer whilst I was tanned and feeling confident that I could snap up an eligible bachelor without too much fuss. After exhanging several friendly messages I decided to meet with Mr C so that we could indulge in some tea and cake. In my hurry to arrive mixed with extreme nerves I managed to crash my car into a bollard in a multi-storey car park. Smooth move. Luckily, Mr C came to the rescue, gave me a massive hug and confidently assured me it wouldn’t be too expensive and that I could leave to sort it out if I wanted to. Even though I could see the beginnings of a bald spot when he bent down to inspect the damage, I had decided by this point that he was going to be my knight in shining armour and that I should definitely stay to decide if he was going to be The One.

Off we went to consume large slices of cake and exchange pleasantries. He asked me about my life and future plans and it seemed strange that we were so aligned in our ideals and hopes for the future. No real flirtatiousness happened but I put that down to nerves and decided that he ticked so many boxes that I would be silly to give up so soon. The most awkward (and slightly sweaty, his not mine!) kiss in the world took place in his car as he dropped me off but again I put this down to nerves. I forced my brain to ignore the bald spot.

A few pub based dates followed in which we became closer and managed a few (slightly more pleasant) kisses.  We even did the holding hands thing as we walked alongside a canal – it was practically Disney in my world of dating. I hate Disney, by the way. He was everything I am supposed to be looking for: great job, tall and handsome, chatty, well-travelled, a family man. Somehow I just couldn’t make the connect with his personality. Several questions about children, family and marriage threw me off and his continued demands to ‘really get to know the real you’ were just too cringeworthy to bear. It might just be me but I don’t believe the amount of children I want to have or where I would like to raise them is really second date material!

Being the determined gal that I am, I decided to continue onto the fourth date and his offer of tv and a night at his.This is it! I thought. A night full of wild passion where it will all fall into place and we will decide we are meant for each other after all.

I arrived to find him sweaty from the gym and with no food in the house. No food! What do you think I am?! This was a major red flag. I am practically incapable of anything without food. To make things worse (and considerably creepier), he had been shopping earlier that day and bought a clock that I had found for him online and loudly proclaimed ‘now a piece of you will always be in my house!’. I thought he was going to chop me up and store me in the freezer there and then.

After a few awkward moments, he left me to watch tv as he went to shower and returned in what I can only describe as a crusty old man dressing gown, ill-fitting basketball shorts and mules. RED FLAG. Ok – he’s comfortable I thought. Maybe if we do end up together this is reality. Reality is good. Accept reality… even if it is dreary and boring and mind-numbing and full of ugly nightwear.

Just to confirm our incompatibility further he sat down, put his (finally clean) arm around me and made me watch darts. No irony – he really believed this was good tv viewing. For who? Who even watches darts? RED FLAG WAVING FRANTICALLY AND REPEATEDLY. I managed to convince him to change the channel and we ended up watching Trasformers – my idea was that perhaps the sight of Megan Fox might send him into a lust-fuelled craze which would be directed my way. Instead he decided to discuss machinery as he drank port and became more red-faced by the minute.

Having mentally binned the idea of a relationship with Mr C, I suggested we just go to bed at a respectable 11pm. This led to an awkward yet not entirely unpleasant fumble and then immediate sleep. Mr C shot up in the morning, announced he had no food for breakfast but that I could have a cup of tea and that he had to get going because his friend was arriving soon. Off I went, happily.

That evening I messaged to explain that although we worked fantastically on paper, it didn’t quite translate. The next day I recieved my message back but with a few words changed to make it sound like it was his idea. BIZARRE. I had said ‘I have been talking to my friend Michelle about us and I think…’ and he had replied ‘I have been talking to my friend Tom about us and I think…’ – he had copied the entire message!

He has messaged a few times since to express his regret and sorrow that he hasn’t been able to find anyone as ‘beautiful, intelligent or captivating’ as me.

Obviously not as captivating as darts.


The One Who Wanted a Wife

I do not “love it”.

Mr “I Love It” is a common conversation topic with my lady friends. Almost as common as Mr “Thumb penis”, Mr “Just Dip it” and Mr “This is awkward as we now share a family member” – (More on those later).

Mr “I Love it” started out as a promising Tinderventure. He had the floppy hair, the checked shirt, the career, the musician charm. We both threw caution to wind and marvelled together at how easy this was, how silly games were just… well…silly. We both genuinely liked each other and neither of us were ashamed to admit that. It was refreshing. We were both pretty fresh out of a relationship so understood each others vulnerabilities (so it seemed).

Before we met we had a four hour phone conversation. I decided that this was going to be my future husband. I juggled with the idea of creating an email based blog to his future self that I could present to him at our wedding. I imagined meeting for lunch inbetween our conveniently close by work premises. Mostly, I had vibrant fantasies of prancing through the city in love and in full eyeview of my bound to be jealous and regretful ex boyfriend (Mr “This is awkward as we now share a family member”). It was a recipe for disaster.

Our first date was nervous but promising. I wore a casual mini dress, black tights and boots. He wore a checked hipster shirt (which for some reason instantly makes me more attracted to a man – It really has become a problem and is pretty much my sole man seeking device when I am too blind drunk to see properly – Beard + checked shirt = sex material). We chatted and took part in a quiz. He was polite. We got tipsy, and the chemistry was good. Looking back we did not really talk about much. But I didn’t care. I was in that dazed stage of a breakup where I almost feel like I am on camera and enjoyment stems solely from the possibility that my ex  (or his friends and family) might see me looking “happy” with someone else. It was a sad time. Oddly enough a family member of the dreaded ex was sat directly opposite us. This was enough to create the scene. At the time it was a subconscious thing, but looking back, I must have put on an act for her benefit in some way shape or form. I am human. And this is a blog where we are honest. I am not about to pretend I am completely sane.

We left, held hands, smiled, kissed on some steps. It was, just what I needed. I *shush* stayed over. But under that weird game of “I’m staying with you but we can only grind and cuddle and have no real fun because then I can pretend I am still a lady”.

What followed was a couple more “House bound” dates. And they were good too. He wrote me a song. It sounds creepy. Looking back perhaps it was. It involved “falling for me” in the lyrics. I NEEDED to fall in love. This seemed to be the answer. I was dizzy on pain from my breakup, wanting that to go away, and hoping that I had walked right into the perfect man.

We got to the obligatory 3rd date sex. I had packed my overnight bag. I had bothered to defuzz. I was banking on intimate, passionate, “we have a real connection and even more so because we have waited” sex.


The man fucked like he was preparing for a porno shoot audition. There was no caressing, passionate kissing, slow, tender (or even speedy hot) passion. No chemistry. Just him, treating me, like a vehicle in which to get from A to P(orno).

It. Was. Awful.

Don’t get me wrong. A to P sex has its place. Sometimes it is the first time you have sex with someone. But it is about context, and atmosphere, and reading body language. We had been romantic, and soulful. We were listening to Bon Fucking IVER.

He had also already decided that he had an absolutely MASSIVE penis.


Having a medium sized penis is not a problem. Having a medium sized penis and telling me how big it is, asking me my opinion on its massiveness, and telling me that it is probably the biggest I have ever had? (No again.) IS. A. PROBLEM.



But you cannot. And neither can you excitedly lick your lips and agree with him…. because you actually want to just laugh all over his completely average sized manhood.

So. That sex was complete rubbish. But I am approaching 30, I know my body well, and I know how to get myself off. So he must have thought he was an absolute sex God when I climaxed within 5 minutes and urged him to hurry the fuck along.

I put it down to nerves, first times…. perhaps he was trying to impress me? In the morning I was eager to begin the challenge of crafting his sex style into mine and hoping we would eventually blend together. I awoke in the morning, naked spoons, and twisted my arms around him, (Cutely) asking for some more playtime.

“Ugh im tired”.


We have met each other 3 times. You have written a song for me. I am naked pressed up against you. What planet are you on.

And so our next meeting. We had an ok night…. we watched a movie with him and his flatmate. I was pretty eager for some alone time so we could begin the blending of bodies. We finally went to bed. He said goodnight.

At this point I wanted to punch him the face.

But I refrained. So instead, I made a gag about how its our 4th date and we probably should be ripping each others clothes off right now. It should be noted that we had spoke online where I had kindly chatted to him about how I really enjoyed our sexy time… but I really like HIM and would like to have sex with HIM as HIM and that he doesn’t need to impress me…. he said he understood. We went on to have mediocre sex that was considerably better than last time.

He goes off on holiday. I am not sure what happens on this holiday but by what happened next I can only imagine that he suffered a stroke from being too cold in the Alps, if that is possible.

He comes back. He’s like a bitch in heat. He is grabbing me and trying to kiss me but its awkward and forced. For some reason, he has got the impression that I was “Demanding” when it comes to sex and this is what I want (for wanting sex on our 4th date when we had already slept together?).

We take it to the bedroom. I keep trying to slow him down. Lets enjoy this…. I can barely kiss him. There is ZERO intimacy. I don’t think he even touched any part of my body other than the back of my head as he was forcing my face onto his “MASSIVE” cock. I am not turned on. Not even vaguely horny. Just annoyed.

He proceeds to choke me with his average penis which must have took some serious effort. At this point I feel a little bit like a prostitute. We are supposed to be having lovely connected passionate bondy sex. But instead he is completely misreading (or ignoring) all of my body language, non verbal, AND VERBAL communication. “You are choking me”“I like that though” – *shove shove shove*. HELL FUCKING NO.

I decide I just want this bit over and done with. Lets just get on with it. The wilder beast climbs on board.

“Yeah I bet you have missed this massive penis filling you up haven’t you” 

“Erm … yeah…” (We have had average sex with your average penis twice….are you mistaking me for someone else).

“Tell me that you have missed this massive penis”

“Yeah….” (Not remotely)

“No. Say it. Say you have missed this massive penis”

“Ive missed this massive (average) Penis”…. (Just get at an angle where I can touch my clit and pretend you are someone else”

“Now tell me that you love it”

“ermmm yeahhh”

“Tell me that you love it!”

“Arghh I dont want to”

“Tell me that you love it”

“I love it…..” ( I do not love it )

“I want you to tell me you love it every time I go in”……….




He wants me to tell me that I love it with every average penis thrust. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME DUDE?! How did he think that would pan out when we are thrusting 70 TPH (thrusts per hour if you were wondering).

Now I am a polite lady. And I can deal with shit and quirks. But I had to stop. Right there. I was on the verge of tears by this point. And I left, never to see Mr “I Love it” again. I can look back now, and giggle. He was an absolute douche bag. But here is a lesson to you. If a man claims to have a massive penis when he DOES NOT. Take that as a red flag. And run. Far away.

Loves and kisses

Mother Celibataire xx

I do not “love it”.


Sometimes the panic hits and you can’t help but tinder frantically (yes, I’m using it as a verb) in the hope that you will find someone who is a) not mounting a doped up tiger, b) capable of a conversation beyond ‘heya gowgas wts app in’ (seriously) or c) looks even vaguely attractive if the wind is blowing in the right direction, the lights are dimmed and you have had several cocktails.

Tonight was one of those evenings where I went on the kind of tinder rampage which leaves your thumb unsure which direction it points in naturally and it invites you to question everything you once thought you knew. If I was being picky and sticking to my true likes and dislikes then every match I have would be slightly beardy, artsy and awkward in equal measures. Unfortunately, my tinder spree meant I had exhausted all possible men options within a 30km radius who were within my age range (a generous 10 year gap). Oops.

As a result of my over eager thumb war with my phone, what I have discovered this evening is that in reality I am willing to look at men several years younger than myself as a viable dating option. Don’t worry, I am not going mad. There is a vague (read: completely nonsensical) kind of logic behind this.

Number 1: Younger men are keen to please. This was evidenced in one young chap (let’s call him Nemo – cute but a bit helpless) who messaged repeatedly with claims that age is just a number and that I should give him a ‘lifeline’ and the chance to date me. At what point I became a tank of oxygen I am unsure. After finally relinquishing my number, boring chat ensued about long walks in the park and what my ‘type’ is. He was one of those who wants to know every single bit of information IMMEDIATELY. Nemo might turn out to be interesting depending on just how needy/weird he becomes.

Number 2: They don’t require much thought or effort. In your mid twenties you are used to film nights, takeaway and a few drinks in the local pub. Nothing pretentious or showy. Ideal.

And number 3: Their expectations are very low. Men generally don’t become broken until the age of 26, at which point they decide a woman should be be the perfect Stepford wife but also a total vixen. Before the age of 26, they aren’t fussy. My lucky number this evening has been 22. Make of that what you will.

This is obviously a generalisation – clearly there are men in their mid twenties who are well adapted adults. Much more so than myself, I would like to add. However, my evening’s experiences of Tinder have shown me that these young ‘uns are more chatty, open and funny than some of their more uptight, older counterparts.

Either that, or everything above is wrong and I am the desperate one. Awkward. I think I need a Tindervention.