>My attitude to online dating is very much in tune with Karl Lagerfeld's view on social media; ' I am not interested in looking for unknown friends. I know enough people already.' There's no substitute for chemistry upon meeting, either, as I found when my new gardener called round to be paid. Strapping, in a utility pant. Yum. I am also agin the idea of producing a 'profile' for the purpose of hawking myself on the internet. I already can't stand most of the personas people create for themselves on Facebook - ' Aw, hon, you go, girl!', 'Just returned from a lovely walk', ' Baking day!' (always buns or rather, obligatory new name: 'cupcakes'). Menopausal symptoms are making me extra grumpy and hard to please so the idea of conceiving a self portrait designed to appeal to what Uncle Matthew in The Pursuit Of Love would likely have called 'Hogs, Hun and sewers' repelled me.
However I was starting to develop a worrying attraction to the likes of Tim Henman, Christopher Dean ( yes, him, as in' Torvill and') and the patronising fella who takes our school iPad training in a V-neck. So I wrote myself an only slightly tongue-in-cheek profile, uploaded a couple of smiling photos to fool them into thinking I was nice and put myself, as they say in When Harry Met Sally, 'out there'. That was when I learned the meaning of true repulsion.
The site I used is non-subscribing. I only hope this accounts for some of its, er, patrons. The photos alone would put you in mind of Paranormal Activity. Men seem to be secretive about online dating -they clearly haven't asked a mate to take a nice clear friendly-looking shot. Their distorted features loom terrifyingly towards the screen of their mobile in a botched selfie (I heard if you moon, it's known as a 'belfie', by the way) or they're on a boat, in the distance. Or on a bike, in what must be easily the least flattering sports gear. In the distance. Or up a mountain in full ski suit and goggles. In the distance.
Some haven't really found their way into the millennium and can be seen reflected in a mirror, holding a non -smartphone - a thick phone? Also in the distance. And in more than one case, wearing dark glasses. They seem intent on being utterly unrecognisable, should you nail down a meeting. There seem to be quite a few with no picture and therefore a peculiar lilac and white silhouette of dubious gender, the type of man who used to attach an image to a personal message, I bet, instead having a profile picture, before this practice was blocked. Too many sending pelfies, presumably.
Which leads me to the first of my rather broad criteria for screening potential contacts. No dirt. Any sexy talk on the profile and I'm off. There are plenty of people whose profiles state 'isn't looking for any kind of relationship or commitment'- don't they know to at least pretend to be interested in your mind, in time-honoured fashion? There was one guy whose tag line was actually 'Theholeisthegoal'-you'll think I've made this up. Or people whose third ever message asks for more photos;' I'm a leg man lol'. A lelfie? I think not.
At least those ones are obvious early on. I had a prolonged exchange with someone who made what I took to be little Victoria Wood type jokes about his love of women in neck-scarves and floral aprons. 'How funny and original' I thought, ' Makes such an amusing change from ' How's u lol'' There's a lot of lol-ing. Not a lot of question marks though, sadly. Anyway, I was delighted with this dryly amusing individual until he mentioned feeling 'all tingly' as I was bringing out his 'sub side'. I was Presbyterian-baffled by this abbreviation, I'm proud to say. Turned out to be 'submissive', for anyone else who skimmed through Fifty Shades, trying to keep their Finest Fish Fillets down. A tolerant friend suggested he was harmlessly flirting but I rather thought he wanted to be put in a nappy and smacked. The latter I could manage. Imagine if he'd met menopausal me: multiple orgasms.
As well as liking a man to act 'daysent', I'm fussy about height too. There's a powerful amount of teeny tiny men online and I'm not dating Mr Pepperpot. I also have literacy criteria which is worryingly, the sort of guff my boss comes off with. However, many would-be onliners are disturbingly incoherent, which lends a whole Charles Manson type veneer to proceedings. No punctuation at all, appalling spelling and no notion of suitable content. I've read long rants about bad experiences 'on here' , animal rights ,a love of Country and Western, a preference for cats/motorbikes over people or chillingly, 'my child is my life'. No one normal feels the need to come off with that one.
However, to the Irish, little surpasses the terrifying 'I do not drink'. We are extremely suspicious of this, most especially in a bloke. I met one of those ones, hoping he was, you know, all healthy or something and would be perfectly willing to drive little ol' wine-swillin' me around for the rest of his natural. The date was so brief, I nearly phoned Norris McWhirter as I sprinted to the car. The guy was all twitchy and highly immature; I half expected mittens on a string to appear from the sleeves of his anorak. He used my name at the end of every sentence too, I hate that-as creepy as Terry Thomas, though this character wouldn't have been capable of growing the 'tache. No wonder he didn't drink. Medicated by a full time carer, I shouldn't wonder.
Hormone imbalance is clearly not helping me become the Polyanna of Plenty Of Fish, although I'm frankly unclear as to whether I ever experienced a First Spring,leave alone a second. I seem to have always veered rather violently between summer and winter. No wonder I'm single. At least the arrival of actual spring will require the gardener. In shorts and not in the distance.
