But after one romantic disaster too many, I reviewed my dating history and concluded there was something wrong either with a) every girl I’d ever dated or b) me. R from Lovestruck is Japanese – lovely, totally incomprehensible. When she was a baby she was kissed by Marshal Tito. She’s Italian, sort of like a sexless Sophia Loren. The algorithms that sites such as Lovestruck use to match people seem somewhat redundant post-Tinder, where appearance is everything. After a couple of false starts, I unwittingly use a blinding opener to attract C: “Nice bracelet.” This half-arsed hello is, remarkably, golden.Now I’m ready to give it another shot, because I’ve hit upon a theory – one that will exorcise my dating demons and turn me into a great seducer of women. If we’d met on a Friday, who knows what would have happened. I think she enjoyed our chat but it was hard to tell. I produce a biography of Tito from my bag but the coincidence fails to stimulate conversation. Apparently women like someone noticing little details in their outfit. Conversation – or the lack of it – has been playing on my mind.
But as I upload my first picture, it feels as though I’m giving a terabyte of myself away. With more than 150m members, it’s been tagged as “the world’s most successful hook-up service” and is the biggest paid-for social networking site on the planet. She tells me all about how her family moved around to avoid the tax man.
I used to, and I think at times I might even have enjoyed it. S from Tinder is smiley and chatty with faultless social skills. Wine with M from Lovestruck – the first date I’ve really enjoyed, and the first woman I found attractive just by looking at her photo.
Me and my next door neighbour were wrestling in his back garden and, as I rubbed myself up against his leg, I felt parts of my body I’d previously never given much thought begin to tremble with what I now know to be a pretty spectacular climax. I genuinely believed that I was the first person to discover that the human body could do this so, running into the house, I told his mum what had happened and asked her if there was any way she thought I could make money out of it.
She was horrified, told my mum and I wasn’t allowed to go back to my friend’s house all summer.
The majority of the attacks allegedly took place in the 1950s.