I need to learn how to be a bitch.

I think this might be my last attempt at dating. I'll stick to singledom - doesn't actually seem like a choice unless I learn to be a bitch. Bitches always seem to have men vying for them - not just the attractive bitches: thin ones; fat ones; even ones who look less good than I do!

Yet again I had a great date. Everything I could ask for. From what he said it was mutual. We arranged a second date. Then he cancelled - he gave a perfectly good reason, so while I expressed my disappointment that we wouldn't be meeting, I accepted the situation with grace. He would call me, he said, to arrange something the following week. The following week has come and gone and all I have received is silence.

I have left him a message - but it was a calm 'grown up' sort of message. Perhaps I should have told him he is the bastard he evidently is, but then who ends up looking like an hysteric? Should I have been more demanding about meeting up after that cancelled date? Should I have forced him into admitting he didn't want to see me again? Somehow being reasonable just leads people to think they can screw you over because you won't make a fuss, won't cause a scene.

Well here I am making a fuss.

Plus one

I've been invited to a dinner party. A rather grand one to be given by a woman I know slightly. The invitation says 'plus one', only I don't have a plus one. None of my on-liners is remotely suitable. No doubt if I advertised via the dating site 'does anyone want to come to a posh do' I'd get a couple of offers, but I'd run the risk of them being nothing more than free-loaders, without table manners or conversation. So I respond to the invitation and explain I'll be attending on my own. My would-be hostess almost explodes. I can't possibly come alone, she tells me, because that would make the numbers uneven.

I wish I had the chutzpah to say say that if I'm not welcome for myself alone then the last place I want to be is at her bloody dinner-party, but of course I merely say that in that case I must refuse.

"I'll put you down as an apology," she says in a supercilious tone.

"No, please don't. Put me down as a refusal. I'm not apologizing for the fact that I don't have a man hanging off my arm."

I'm safe from invitations from her again (can you imagine the ghastly people who'll be at her dinner-party?)

My little triumph is short-lived - I open this morning's post. A holiday brochure advertising wonderful holidays in places I want to visit. The prices are as always, "per person based on two sharing". The single supplements are an additional 50% -70%. I sling the brochure in the recycling bin.

Professional standard

Yesterday's date was with the chap who's a bit of a regular, although I've not seen him for a few months. He turned up - a bit late - but not so much as one would need to complain, but instead of flowers and choccies he brought a tape measure and a paint chart. He's a builder/decorator. It was time to tackle the outer hall and a few other jobs. He assessed the inner hall, ran his hands lightly over the walls and nodded with approval.

"When did I do this, then? Don't seem to recall."

"I did it last year."

"No, love, this is done to a professional standard. Must have done it myself."

"Actually, no. I did it. All of it, from the sanding, filling, more sanding, painting..."

He refused to believe me, imagining that my little female brain had gone into overload confusion. Why do men never believe a woman can do jobs they regard as 'masculine' jobs. I'll have him know I've done a fair bit of painting and decorating in my time. I can wield a sander, a razor-scraper and a paintbrush with the best of 'em.

I only hope he doesn't send me a bill when he discovers he's not invoiced me for work he didn't do.

Great date

At last, a date with a guy whose emails were intelligent and witty, and whose conversation was conducted in grammatical English. He was interesting and I was looking forward to meeting him. I wasn't bowled over by his profile picture but no doubt he could say the same about mine, and anyway I'm not a woman who judges on physical appearances. He suggested a restaurant where we would meet at for lunch.

I arrive bang on time. The restaurant is closed. This is obviously not a man who books. The man in question is nowhere in sight. I wait, and wait. After 15 minutes, having checked my phone for non existent texts, I decide to call to inform him I am going shopping instead. If ever a girl needed to go shopping, it's on a failed date (and I don't even like shopping).

A rough sleeper is ambling towards me. He looks harmless enough but I wonder if he's going to ask me for money. He looks quizzically at me. He shares a very faint resemblance to my date. He is my date. He is quite 10 years older than the photo. His hair has grown unkempt. His jacket is frankly grubby and his jogging bottoms are ragged around the hems. His trainers are muddy. He does not apologize for keeping me waiting but instead has the temerity to look disappointed at what he sees. (Smart velvet jacket, clean black jeans, polished boots, tidy hair, up-to-date photo which is pretty accurate.)

A girl sometimes just needs to go shopping.

Dark deeds

I mentioned to a woman I know (knew) about my attempts at on-line dating.

"Oh do be careful," she cautioned me. "These sites attract terrible people, just out for your money.''

My retort about them being disappointed on that score was met with a blank stare.

"Or worse." She hinted at dark deeds, because she is under the impression that all men are bad men. She was not amused when I asked if she thought her husband, brothers and sons were to be counted among these evil creatures.

She made me promise that on my next date 'with a complete stranger' I would take a friend along. I'm not sure if she intended the friend to skulk around in the background, wearing shades, with a loaded gun, or at least a pepper spray, concealed about her person, or whether she was meant to dress up and join us for dinner. The former could end in my arrest and the latter with the friend and prospective date going off together and leaving me with the bill.

I promise to date only those I am confident will not attempt to relieve me of the contents of my bank account, who do not want to meet without a few good chats beforehand and who are happy to meet in a sensible central location, but my friends will be politely asked to stay at home.

Can he be for real?

I actually made a date. No trekking across London, but not too close to home. Instinct warned me that meeting for coffee, rather than dinner would be a wise decision.

As it turned out, even coffee was far too long to be in this man's company. He talked non-stop about himself, how rubbish his life is, how he has too work too hard (don't we all?) how terrible his ex-wife is, (you married her, get over it), how he has no friends (fancy that).

You get the picture. I ran screaming out of the coffee-shop. No, actually I drank my coffee very fast and said a polite goodbye. He was still talking at me as I left. He may still be there now.

Left standing there.

I have a confession. This time last year I stood a date up.

My defence is that we'd made the date 10 years earlier. To be honest I thought it was a joke - not to be taken seriously, like when people say to the couple they meet on holiday: "Oh you must pop in some time", never thinking they will.

So there I am on a Saturday afternoon, at home, when the phone rings. I answer and an unfamiliar voice says: "Oh if you're there you're obviously not meeting me here." I'm just about to say he's got the wrong number when he says his name, and I recall this long-ago conversation! He is waiting on the steps of the Tate.

We meet later - and he looks exactly the same - not even 5 years older, let alone 10. But sadly the reason we haven't been having a fun packed decade together remains. Utter incompatibility. We'll not meeting again in 2021!

Prospective dates.

I get a message from a prospective on-line date. He's keen. Too keen. "Let's meet for dinner on Tuesday", and he names a restauant a million miles across London from me. He has no picture, and says very little about himself on his profile. So all I can deduce is that he is someone who wants to date women who are prepared to date a total nutcase.

I send an email back saying "Thanks, but no thanks to dinner on Tuesday" and give a couple of reasons (quite apart from the fact that my book group meets on Tuesdays where at least I am guaranteed good company and good conversation). I receive a petulant e-mail back saying he thought I would be fun and adventurous and would therefore enjoy a spontaneous evening. I don't think it will help to tell him that a spontaneous evening can result in having your body cut up in to little pieces and dumped in the River Thames. OK, that may not be highly likely, but a needy insecure man is a serious possibility. Oh yes, it turns out the restaurant mentioned is three yards away from his flat. Great!

I think it's time to end this correspondence, and almost straightaway a message from another guy zooms in. He claims to be a young looking 53. I'd put him at 65 plus. He has a moustache, and likes dancing. he doesn't seem to have any other interests. I hate dancing. I hate moustaches so it's a "no" from me. I press the "thanks but no thanks" button.

Man Hunt

Where do women of my age meet men? The workplace? The men where I work are either too young, happily married or gay. One is all three. Evening classes? Only women turn up. Through mutual friends? My friends know only married men or those who have some form of social problem. I don't want to take on a care in the community project. So I'm left with dining clubs and on-line dating. I sign up to both and part with a shed-load of cash.

The first dining club event ends up being exactly like a Care in the Community outing. I was the only woman with more than three brain cells, and the men were monosyllabic. For once in my life I didn't eat pudding, and made my excuses and tore home to demolish half a tub of Ben and Jerry's finest ( the one with polar bears in it). That was the best bit of the entire evening.

I go on-line and find the only message from a would be dater lives 4,000 miles away but thinks distance is no object to love. He seems to have rather a lot of issues. I hit the 'no thanks' button and contemplate the second half of the tub of B and J, but virtuously resist temptation.

Proceed to Fifty with Caution

Especially if you are single and female - because it is a well-known fact that you become invisible on the dot of your half century. Your ex-husband is married to a skinny would-be yummy-mummy (does she know that he had a vasectomy?)

We the ex-wives are meant to disappear into the ether and sadly we do. Unless we go to the gym a lot and use Botox. Some of us don't like the gym and would rather spend the Botox money on going on decent holidays. Or getting the leak in the roof fixed.

This is what my life has become. Weighing up the benefits Botox versus an intact roof. I go to the theatre on my own, and sign up for evening classes. I am invited only to dinner-parties to make up numbers when the hostess feels she has to invite her weird never-married brother because he doesn't get out much. I sit next to him and hear a lot about his model railway and his new telescope.

I can't even drink much to numb the horror because I am driving, so I come home and start a blog. I also vow to put some excitement back into my life - I think a lover would be rather fun.