Romance is dead. Long live romance.

I humbly apologise for not updating this on Friday as promised. I have been sick. Love sick? No.

So, here’s where things are at, chappies. See below for an update. UpDATE! Geddit?!

But first, some anger.

Right. If I have to read the words ‘smiley’, ‘fun-loving’ or ‘loves life’ again I will personally find the founder of Match.com and drag him or her by their hair back to my house and show them my desperately lonely life and explain to them in stark and unflinching terms that it is ALL THEIR FAULT. Seriously, 95% of the women on Match.com have the following opening sentence on their profile.

‘I’m a smiley, laid back, fun-loving girl who loves life and loves to laugh.’

Good luck finding Mr Right then, sweetheart. Because the rest of us find the concept of fun terrifying. As for life, well, we just plain hate it. Abhor the whole concept. All life should be stamped out. Personally, I am so afraid of laughing that I walk around the whole time with my jaw in a clamp just in case someone, god forbid, amuses me or tickles me and forces me into an involuntary chuckle and my whole face caves in. I mean, honestly, they write these things as if the rest of us go around constantly sobbing and punching ourselves in the face. It’s as if they live in some kind of neo-dystopian London where happiness is banned and MY GOD am I like the only one in the whole world who likes being happy and laughing and the sunshine anymore?!!?! If you’re the ONE OTHER PERSON who still craves some kind of joy in their life then CALL ME. Fucknuts.

They dub themselves ‘fun loving’ as if that’s some kind of unique boast. And this waffle about being 'chilled out' and 'laid back' is utter gumph. Yes, we'd all like to think of ourselves as this wonderfully relaxed and open-minded individual who is so Zen that they're thinking of naming a religion in our honour. But in reality most of us don't open letters we suspect might be bills, we stay awake at night worrying about 'that lump' and we pretend we didn't see the pregnant woman get on at Holborn because we're tired and, really, would she do the same for me? Probably not. Anyway, she should've been more careful. In other words, most of us are neurotic, wound-up little beasties and this is precisely why we need someone else in our lives to use as an emotional dustbin and watch Lost with.

I am very very very tempted to change my profile to simply ‘Are you a brainless twat? I bet you are. Bog off.’

It would more accurately reflect my personality as well of the personality of 99% of the people on Match.com.

Whodathunk?!

Also, so many people in their profile burble ‘I don’t know what to write here.’ WELL IF YOU DON’T THEN NO ONE IS GOING TO KNOW ARE THEY? HELP ME OUT HERE. Great jumping Jesus.

I am starting to realise that the reason most of the women on Match.com are single is that they’ve read/seen Bridget Jones’ Diary just one time too many.

So, in answer to your question… No, I don’t have any dates yet.

But, crikey, am I trying. I promised I’d have 5 dates arranged by this coming Friday. And I shall do my damnedest to deliver. The main problem is that even if I were to ask out the people I am emailing regularly and am getting on well with, I’d still come across as uber-keen. But I will flirt with desperation just for you. YOU.

Due to popular demand, I have also contacted all seven of my 100% matches. Yes, even the one who thinks that ‘Scar Tissue’, the biography of Anthony Kieldis, is the greatest work of literature in the history of humankind. And, yes, even the garden gnome in NHS specs. I got a severe amount of abuse for turning her down in the first place. So. You squawk and I answer. Democracy in action that is.

So, keep your eyes peeled for dates galore. Oh yes.

But generally, how’s it going? Well, I’m glad you asked. Initially it was genuinely quite thrilling. I experienced a Match.com ‘bounce’. I felt good. I was going to be dating, oh yeah. It was going to be fun. I had a spring in my step and I felt more attractive (I even flirted with the outrageous possibility that I didn’t need Match.com to get dates, fool!). That was Week One. Week Two has been somewhat different.

It’s the statistics that grind you down. The cold, hard statistics that you can’t ignore, as Match.com kindly display them in enormous letters on your home page. In two weeks, five people have emailed me after seeing my profile. Not bad, you might think. Why, that’s even cause for celebration. WRONG. Because Match.com also inform in the same salty breath that 115 people have viewed my profile. So. 5 out of 115. Now, I’m no mathematician but that’s a poor return. You also have the pain of seeing the long, gloating list of people who've turned you down. In other words, the first thing you see when you log in to your Match.com profile is a list of your failures. Imagine if, every morning, over your cornflakes, the radio DJ (someone famous, for national exposure - Chris Moyles, David Humphries or, god forbid, Christian O’Connell) lists everyone you’ve ever failed to get off with, everyone who’s knocked you back….sod it, even everyone you’ve cast a furtive glance at in a bar. The whole list. Every morning. Whilst people text in abusive sentiments about what a chinless gibbon you are. That’s what Week Two on Match.com is like.

Roll on Week Three.

Remember - a week’s a long time in Love.