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do something drastic”.

      Fortunately not too drastic because, as fate would have it, Polly had booked the two of us in for a makeover and photographic session up in London for the following week, as she felt it would be good fun.

      I think at this point it is important to share with you how much I dislike, or should I say hate, having my photo taken.

      I am talking about a woman who, while completely unaware of any male staring at her from five feet away, can detect a camera pointing in her direction at five hundred metres and usually ends up with eight double chins being featured or eyes which look as if they belong to a psychopath. The photo I had uploaded was a rare one of me actually looking like me, but I have to admit, it wasn’t exactly glamorous.

      However reassured by Polly’s presence, and encouraging words, I met her outside the hairdressers and succumbed to a great deal of preparation and copious amounts of bucks fizz to ease my nerves.

      We had both asked to be made up to look natural as opposed to glamorous (though Milo had wanted her to go for the nude option) but couldn’t believe the amount of stuff that appeared to have been put on our faces and sat there looking at each other, only speaking to say “But you don’t look like you!” at regular intervals, before being ushered into a room for the photo session.

      Half an hour later, shell shocked and still suffering the effects of more bucks fizz than should be allowed, we headed back to wait for the photos to be loaded on a PC for us to view.

      Incredibly out of about sixty photos I did finally find six I liked and ordered them and they arrived a few weeks later.

      Polly was adamant about which photo had to feature as my main portrait on the website, namely “The one where you look like you have enormous breasts” so who was I to argue with that?!

      Four weeks later the photos arrived and I uploaded them onto the website, not expecting much of a response. That evening however I came home to find not an empty inbox but one that finally had some mail in it from potential suitors.

      I’m not sure how you are really supposed to make any fair assessment of people in these situations; in fact the whole idea of internet dating does at times make me wonder if arranged marriages are actually far more practical and, from the bride’s point of view, far less hassle than trawling through a bunch of potential suitors with photos that make them look like Conan the Barbarian or a Yeti on his summer holidays. I’ve never been into men with more than their fair share of macho body hair, and yet these were the ones that seemed to be most attracted to my profile. But then at last someone wrote to me who seemed not only normal but quite witty. He was also completely gob smacked that I wrote back to him and we started an amusing dialogue, which lasted a few evenings and stopped me having to subject myself to repeats of reality TV shows and the ubiquitous Big Brother.

      So after a couple of weeks of emails I agreed to meet him and chose the not so romantic setting of the Marks and Spencer Coffee shop at one of their superstores, about ten miles away. You see I am a practical girl as I figured that if the date didn’t work out at least I could enjoy myself doing some shopping afterwards!

      Feeling ready for action I drove over to the aforementioned store with the good wishes of all my girlfriends literally ringing in my ears (thanks to text messaging) and prepared to meet my prince charming……

      Chapter 2

      Date #1: Ian

      I don’t think anyone ever looks quite like their photo, but at least I could recognise Ian from the one displayed on the website and aided by the fact that he was the only single man standing by the revolving doors and constantly checking his texts.

      As I walked across the car park I could see that he was conservatively dressed in dark brown trousers, black slip-on shoes, which had probably never seen a tin of polish, but I suppose that is not unusual these days, and a shirt that looked like it had seen better of days, hiding underneath a battered brown leather jacket. His dark brown hair had a tousled look, but I decided this was more due to the gusts of air that blew out every time one of the automatic doors opened and closed, as opposed to any effort on his part. His complexion suggested that he spent more time indoors than out and I wondered how much we would have in common.

      He had a firm handshake, which I decided was a good start as one of the things that can really put me off a man is a handshake whereby their hand resembles a bowl of blancmange and I have to make every effort not to visibly cringe or say ‘eugh’ out loud. We headed to the coffee area, found a table in remarkably quick time, but that may have been on account of the fact that most of the people in there were still in shopping mode, got our coffees and then started the conversation, initially talking about the website and how long we had been on it. Not too difficult at all really.

      This arrangement did rather strike me as being rather like a wrestling match where each opponent prowls around the other with a series of innocuous moves until one finally decides to get things moving with a sudden strike. I wasn’t sure that I wanted it to take this form unless I was the one to get in first. We chatted happily away for about twenty minutes and, while I wasn’t exactly worshipping at his feet, I was quite relieved that I hadn’t needed to check for the nearest exit, and then it started……

      “So Ian how long have you been looking for lurve?” (Said with what I thought was a mischievous, yet endearing grin)

      “About a year now, ever since I split up with my ex”

      “And how has it been for you?”

      “Quite disappointing really – no one so far has lived up to her and what we had” (Already my warning siren is starting to beep quietly).

      “And do you live on your own in your house?”

      “Yes, ever since my ex left me”

      “Is it a nice house?”

      “Well it will be, once I have finished installing the new kitchen”

      “How fabulous. I must admit that I am considering a new kitchen at some point in the next year or so and I just love to hear about what people are doing with theirs. I hear that the cottage look is coming back, but I suppose it all depends on what the style of your house is and, being a man you may be into the clean dark look , you know , all shiny and minimalist. Tell me, where did you get it from?”

      “Oh it belongs to my ex – she’s got a new kitchen for her new place so I’m having the one she’s taking out as it is in good shape”

      “Right. Very generous of her…… been on any holidays recently?” I couldn’t carry on with this kitchen question with every sentence that was coming from his lips mentioning this ex. My warning siren was beeping a little more loudly and part of me wanted to cut my losses and run, but it had taken me quite an effort to get this first date and I wasn’t one for giving in at the first sign of a challenge, so I decided a change of subject would be the best strategy. I awaited his response with interest and, to be honest, a fair dollop of smugness at the way I was handling the conversation so far.

      “No, I was planning to go to Italy but that was the last place I went with my ex so I don’t really feel like going back there at the moment”

      “OK. How about sport – do you like watching or playing anything in particular like football, F1, rugby, cricket?” Despite the warning siren in my head beeping more loudly and urgently I was determined to give him another chance and, knowing that many women have no interest in sport, I felt I had to be onto a good subject here with him unable to refer back to his ex.

      “I don’t watch any sport as I don’t have a TV”

      “But you work for Sony how can you not have a television, isn’t that contrary to company policy?!” I was actually even more impressed at my witty repartee, bearing in mind he was actually becoming

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