Notes to self: The elusive man

As a relentlessly single person I am in no position to give advice on how to get a boyfriend. Let’s just get that out of the way right at the beginning.

One thing I can tell you with some authority is how not to find a boyfriend. This is an area I excel in. I certainly have enough experience to back up all my advice on what kind of men you don’t want to be dating. For instance, don’t date a man who arrives for dates on a skateboard or one who would rather carry on playing on his Wii than take you to the airport on Valentine’s Day (after forgetting to buy you a present) and definitely not one who stands you up for three hours because he is with your friend.

Yes, I’m something of a pro at seeking out the wrong kinds of men, but finding a suitable boyfriend is a lot trickier. If I knew how to do it, I would a) have a boyfriend b) have written a bestselling book and c) overlook the fact that I think it is pointless going out looking for a boyfriend.

I am a little picky. One of my friends once told me I was “too picky” and would never find a boyfriend. But seriously — who would see being picky as a negative? I shudder to think what the alternative is. I just can’t help but think that being proactive in the hunt for a boyfriend reeks of desperation. It’s great to have one but, surely (unfortunately), it’s not as easy finding a nice man as it is picking up a pair of shoes that match your new Zara number?

It would be a nightmare to go out “looking for a man”. I would retch at the idea of a blind date or a set-up and I can’t think of anything more cringe-worthy than “putting myself out there” and joining a dating agency or whatever the latest way of organising a very awkward encounter with somebody you’re not interested in is.

Aside from do-gooder friends who want to set you up with every guy they didn’t fancy, the other horrible side-effect of looking for a man is that every single man you meet, you weigh up as your potential future husband. You find yourself giving the gym instructor sideways glances, wondering if it’s chemistry you sense with your colleague and you daydream about whether you could overlook your neighbour’s funny walk and happily introduce him to your mother.

My last boyfriend (whom I met while throwing a strop at work — and certainly not looking for love) was great and so anytime a man tries to chat me up or asks me out on a date, I hide (sometimes literally), avoid their calls and pretend I am still seeing somebody. The problem is I am choosing to be single. If a man can’t measure up to my “list” (which gets refined every time I date somebody else unsuitable), I just can’t be bothered even trying with them.

There are certain criteria any potential man I date should have. He must be tall, tanned, intelligent (learnt after going out with an idiot nicknamed “Duh Dan”), arty, funny, sensitive, have a passion for travel (learnt after going out with a man who had never been abroad), responsible, caring and tolerant (learnt after seeing the fear in some men’s eyes during one of my tantrums). This has evolved a long way from my original list when I started dating ten years ago, which would have read “gorgeous”. I made lots of gorgeous mistakes (which, in all fairness, is difficult to regret when you look back on the gorgeous pictures of them). But gorgeous only goes so far. Shame.

So, from now on, I’m not going to bother looking because I just don’t have the energy to try and overlook the fact that my date only talks about himself because he might still be “The One”. Love can come and find me if it wants — I’ll be right here. So, from a single girl to all you other single girls, I think The Supremes (and Phil Collins) might just have been right. You can’t hurry love.