Traffic is not really passing along DSM’s ‘street of love and lust’ – maybe the odd rag and bone cart or milk float, but nothing she wants to flag down.

So, I have decided I have to actively seek out another street, somewhere with moving vehicles, even if they are just five-door hatchbacks or vintage classics. I have never been impressed by flashy cars – ‘penis extensions’, as my male pals, who can’t afford them, say.

Shedding the metaphor-speak, dear confused readers, what I mean is that, because I need to make things happen to avoid dying alone, I am dipping my toe into internet dating for one last time. I had a go three or four years ago without much joy. There were dates, yes, but some lacked chemistry and some lied about their weight, hobbies etc. and used ancient photos to the extent that when I went to meet them, I could not even recognise them. It’s a good job I was telling the truth or we would both have thought we had been stood up.

Yes, I had a couple of brief entanglements lasting several weeks, but one was still not over his marriage break-up and would spend at least half an hour of our time ranting about his latest run-in with the ex: “She said this and she said that and look at this note she wrote me…” While I discovered after three weeks of seeing the other one that, as well as being a shy IT engineer, he was also a member of a football ‘firm’ and far right wing organisation and enjoyed spending weekends pummelling people.

So, this is why I have taken a while to venture out into this murky world again. That and the fact that The Man was, for some time, catering for many (but not all) of my needs.

I haven’t actually been on any dates as yet, but I intend, this time, to approach things cautiously. There are also many chaps (and probably ladies too) who are not completely honest in these forums. Let’s face it – you could be a 20-stone hairy gorilla called Alfred but have an internet persona of blonde, leggy Cynthia who enjoys picnics and spa breaks. Who would know?

First and most recent impressions are that it is a little like choosing a nice dress for a party – do you go for something comfy and familiar, which you know will suit you, but is rather like everything else in your wardrobe? Or on another rack there is something a little different, perhaps in a cut and style you wouldn’t normally go for, but if you try it on it may look pretty good, highlight your best features, even. Otherwise there is that really striking sequinned frock in the corner which has caught your eye, but is it actually designed for someone much younger and slimmer?

Choices, choices… Then it’s all a complete waste of time, effort and planning (as anyone knows if they have to negotiate childcare before they can even imagine leaving the house alone) if it all goes belly-up. And the odds are that it will. When you are meeting a random person and you have chosen one another based on a badly-taken ‘selfie’, your common interest in Emily Brontë and the fact that you both wanted to meet someone aged 35-50.

I am of course secretly hoping that my life will one day turn into a romantic comedy and I will meet a handsome stranger (around 5ft 10 – 6ft 3, blue eyes, brown hair, likes Mexican food and Mumford and Sons) when he clips my car in the NCP car park or I drop my bananas in the supermarket… But until then, I will carry on looking at different party dresses.