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I got on well with a couple of guys; maybe a wine or two later, I would have been throwing my phone number at them. Since the dawn of nightclubs, people have been using sweaty, shouty rooms full of loud music to try out their best chat up lines and find, well, if not love, then a bit of the other at ten to two in the morning. So, myself and a friend headed to one of the biggest meat markets in town, full of girls dressed for an evening under a lamppost at Forest Road West and blokes who - despite working for some big company, or at least pretending to - appear to have only one brain cell to rub against their seldom-used dicks. We swayed to the music, and tried to look like we wanted to pull.We felt that we were doing the right things and not looking out of place. I still don’t know exactly how you convey that, but I think looking around alluringly is a pretty good way to do it, although I’m pretty sure that I looked as if I was sucking a lemon.There’s also a comments box, presumably for you to enter such things as “sort your mole out” or “don’t talk about Hitler so much next time”. If you have any matches, you’ll be told about it the next day.According to protocol, if you picked a potential mate and they only wanted you as a friend you won’t get told but if you’re both match/match or friend/friend, you will.You could tell who of the men had been around the track; they launched straight into what felt like a preselected set of questions. Finally, my ears rejoiced at the sound of the bell and he wandered off to the next poor sod.You could also tell who of them had never done this before; they either had no questions and got all flustered, or - worse - had no answers. He was the only guy I wanted to ditch at the end of the night, but when I went to tick that box I caught him looking at me, his depthless eyes possibly showing a hint of sadness. Don’t get me wrong, one of the men there did get back to me.

A word of advice for males with dating profiles, if I may. Also posting a photo of your dick, covered only by your tiny banana hammock, will not find you a woman.But to be honest, after throwing myself into the hellfire of trying to meet someone, I am more than perfectly happy to sit back, sip some wine in my own front room and watch what the hell I want to on Valentine’s Day. If you want to try before you buy, go speed dating.If you want a quick fling, then head on down to a club on a Saturday night.As the organiser put it at the end of the night, “You don’t want to meet up with someone intent on shagging you, if you only want a coffee”. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind on the night of the event.I’d been up since the wee small hours, touring a freezing recovery facility full of used cooking oil in Norfolk (don’t ask).

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