I was 43 when my marriage ended - a civilised parting of the ways that left me undamaged, unrepentant and optimistic. I'd only put on half a stone in the last two decades,the grey in my hair was limited to one rather fetching streak and after 23 years of monogamy I was curious to see what or who else was out there.
I was 45 by the time I realised that the brief fling with the electrician might be the last sex I ever had. Single eligible men were remarkably hard to find.

It was time to be proactive and I began my research.

THE CLUB:
This was a weekly get together of singles over 30, with social events most weekends.
The women were great- interesting, lively and adventurous. The men, mostly in their 60s and 70s, were a collection of misfits, predators and miseries.

The Toy-Boy - my first foray to a trying-too-hard party was quite successful as I managed to secure a date with the only man under 40. During a discussion of musical taste, it slipped out that I'd screamed at the Beatles in 1963 and I never heard from him again.

At the Valentine's Night dinner-dance with 20 women and 2 men, one of whom went home at 9.30, I decided that maybe this wasn't the answer to my prayers.

THE DATING AGENCY:
Worth a try I thought and after an interview I was accepted onto their books and matched up.

The Woolly Jumper - men in patterned pullovers don't do it for me. (1 date)

The Lecher - nudge-nudge wink-wink, no thanks. (1 date)

The businessman - comatose after 10 minutes. (1 date)

The Porsche - nice man but when the car was mothballed for the winter I seemed to lose interest. ( 3 months)

The Martian - I was ready for a challenge and this man from Mars was certainly that. At the first sign of trouble he locked himself away in his cave, refusing to answer telephone, letters or the door. At first it was worth it when he emerged and we made up but in the end he was just too hard work. (2 years- on and off).

Time to try something different

THE SMALL ADS:
This was a short-lived experiment, as the reality on the end of the telephone bore no relation to the ad.
'Interesting artist'
'Hello, I'm five foot six and a manic depressive' Hang up.
'Active, with many interests'
'Hello, do you play golf? Hang up.

I only met one caller:
The Charismatic Psycho - this man activated every hormone and alarm bell with equal intensity. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if my sensible side hadn't persuaded me not to risk the second date.

THE PERSONAL TOUCH:
A six month break here when an old friend's marriage broke up and he turned to me for sympathy et al. I didn't like to ask what had gone on in his previous life but it was flattering to be thought of as a sex goddess. Unfortunately I didn't share his passion for folk music and even sex can become boring after a while. We parted still good friends.

Somehow the years had slid by and I was now 50. Almost having given up hope, I acquired a computer and a whole new world opened up.

THE INTERNET:
The beauty of internet dating is that it gives you total control. The press of a key decides whom you communicate with and whom you ignore.
I set little traps to tease out if my emailers had no sense of humour, if they were right of Ghengis Khan or if they thought Meatloaf the height of musical taste. So much time and energy could be saved by letting cyberspace sort the wheat from the chaff.
There were the obvious non-starters:
My name is Igor and I am looking for a wife - delete
I am in a mood today because my Hoover broke - delete
I like cosy nights in watching TV - delete
So you play tennis, you can play with my balls any time- delete
I don't like women who shave - delete
Do you play golf? - delete
I have an interesting job - I am a pathologist - delete

A few got past the cyber-tests:
The Hair - this one didn't have the technology to send a photo and the 'long hair', did worry me a little. I tried to discover whether it was Stringfellow-straggles, pony tail or a Jonathan Ross sweep back but couldn't get a straight answer.
The reality was not only greasy rats tails down the neck but the dreaded strands over the bald pate. I've never downed a beer so quickly.

After that it was strictly no photo, no meeting.

The Disappearing German - I liked this man and after two dinners and a walk was already imagining myself in his Spanish holiday villa. We spent the night together and in the morning he vanished never to be seen again. My divine powers were obviously on the wane.

The Viagran - believe me, it doesn't work for everyone.

The Virus - this one started off well. However the first night I spent at his flat, he was struck down with a mystery illness that left him groaning in pain. Meat and poison came to mind as by now I was getting seriously paranoid. He did recover after several weeks but things were never quite the same.


After a few months I grew tired of reading the profiles of overweight, bald, gone to seed, looking-for-companionship-in-old-age men. All the interesting ones were looking for younger models. I gave up on this too.

So now, age 55, what's left? Speed dating with zimmer frames? I don't think so.

Fortunately I've discovered two new passions in my life - travel and writing. With all the wonders of the world and words to explore, who needs men!