‘So rude. And I wasn’t about to let him get away with it. I pressed him for a reason and he said: Okay, Nicolette, I don’t normally do this, but I’m going to tell you the truth because you’re a nice woman and I think you deserve the truth. So here it is: I simply don’t have time to pursue things that aren’t 100 per cent worthwhile – and I can tell this situation is only potentially 50 per cent worthwhile, tops, so it’s nothing personal, but I’m not feeling the fire, so I’m going to save us both some time and leave. And he left.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Half an hour!’

‘You don’t lack anything. He is lacking, to write you off so quickly. Is there not some kind of captcha thing you have to do when you sign up to these sites, to prove you’re not an automaton? How did this guy get through? He sounds in every way soulless.’

‘It’s all binaries. 1 or 0. Yes or no. That’s what they send you, these men on these dating apps. Questionnaires with yes or no answers. Indian or Chinese. Chocolate or sex. Black or white. No nuance. Just polarity.’

‘Oh god,’ I say, the light bulb in my brain exploding, ‘we are thinking like computers! That’s what’s happening! That’s what all this is doing! Define yourself as one thing or the other! Do not be wrong! Do not contradict yourself! YES versus NO, thumbs up thumbs down, all of us junksick robo-emperors in a little blue arena.’

My mother brings three G&Ts in on a tray.

I look at Nicolette. ‘Do you think what is happening here is some kind of evolution?’

Nicolette looks at me, terror in her eyes. ‘Into robots?’

My mother turns around with the tray. ‘You two don’t need any gin.’

‘What if,’ Nicolette says, ‘we thought it was taking us backwards, giving us less thinking time, and actually it’s all going in the right direction for us to be fused with the machines psychologically into a super-race. Like love-children of Cylons and humans.’

‘Good grief,’ says my mother. ‘I thought you were talking about dating. Can we get back to dating?’

She hands us our gins. We all cheers and take a large slug.

‘Anyway, I’m going to delete all my dating apps,’ says Nicolette. ‘I don’t want any more vacuous property imperialists or bankers taking me out to schmancy restaurants in Kensington. Oh no, I am just going to walk into a scruffy bar, walk up to someone, smell them, and if that smell is right, I’m going to ask if they want to fuck.’

‘I’m not sure that’s the best approach.’