I don’t know how long I held my breath for. I think I thought I was dreaming. I recognised it immediately. It transported me back, made me smile, made me happy. You made me happy. It almost seemed too good to be true, but I knew that wasn’t possible. You were always true. You were always there.

In that moment, I knew I had to have you. I knew it was you. It was perfect. Almost too perfect.

1

Thursday 14 November

The whole ‘dating’ scene isn’t something I ever thought I’d be involved with.

There’s a part of me which thinks dating apps are somewhat crude and soulless. After all, all you see is a name, age and a photo and you’re asking to swipe right, indicating you’d totally marry this guy based on those three things or swipe left, consigning him to oblivion as not even worth speaking to because he’s six months too old or dared to wear sunglasses while having his photo taken.

Another part of me realises that’s the way things have been done for years, anyway. If you spot someone in a bar or pub you know nothing about them. Even less than you do on these apps, in fact. At least with the app you know their name and age before you talk to them. And who wants to date a Kevin?

Maybe I’ve just been out of the game too long. It’s definitely easier than going out to meet people, and means I can at least vet them before having to come face to face with them. That’s something I’ve been grateful for on more than one occasion recently.

I’ve been using Tinder for about three weeks now. I’ve not met up with anyone from it, but I will. There’ve been plenty who’ve managed to rule themselves out of the running, though. Guys who open with cheesy chat-up lines get unmatched immediately. Anyone who mentions sex inside the first three messages meets a similar fate.

I’m talking to two at the moment. Finn is 32. He calls himself an ‘Irish stallion’, but the conversation is dull. I didn’t realise he’d be as scintillating to talk to as an actual horse. Ryan is 29, apparently, although I’d put him north of 35. The age thing doesn’t bother me, but the lying does. Still, he reckons he’s 29 and I’m not about to ask for his birth certificate. In any case, he’s started to get sleazy and ask about my bedroom preferences, so he won’t last much longer.

I decide to go back to the main screen on the app and see who else is about. The first few are definite left swipes. Topless photos are always a no-no, as are people called Gary. But I swipe right on a couple, too. I’ve got a thing for nice eyes. I think you can tell a lot by looking into someone’s eyes. I guess there’s a reason they call them the windows to the soul. There are some guys who have those ‘serial killer eyes’ that you can’t quite explain, but which everyone recognises. And others have a cheeky little glint, almost as if the niceness is trying to push through.