Going belly up

I've had a bit of a fall-out with Mavis. I know it's bizarre, considering that we've never met, but the intensity of our communications was going to end in tears sooner or later.

Mavis kept mentioning the fact that her body isn't as good as it used to be and that she has a bit of a belly on her. This didn't particularly bother me. After all, a 35-year-old Scot probably weaned on Irn Bru and deep-fried Mars Bars is unlikely to have a washboard stomach.

But when she mentioned it for a fourth time, I started getting a bit fed-up. I didn't contact her for a few hours (which is an age in our 'relationship'), so Mavis asked me what was wrong. I emailed her, explaining that nobody's perfect (particularly on Dating Direct) and that I'll take her as I find her.

A few hours later, I received a reply. It was quite a rant, telling me off for lecturing her. She said that she was just preparing me, as she had been on 12 dates with blokes she had met on the site, and that within a few minutes of meeting, every one had commented that she didn't look like her photos. I doubted the veracity of this, as I wouldn't consider saying such a thing on a first date. But if it was true, I could see their point: Mavis looks lovely in the main picture on her profile, but the other photos of her bear very little resemblance.

I was disappointed by the ferocity of her email and, I suppose, what it said about her perception of me. I've probably spent 20 hours texting, instant messaging and emailing Mavis over the past 12 days. We're obviously getting on very well and I've told her that she ticks all of the boxes. So to think that I'm going to be put off by a flabby stomach (and it can't be worse than one of my ex's, who used to sit with her arms across her 'mummy tummy' because she was so conscious of it) is insulting.

In a fit of pique, I decided to justify the last week of my membership and email some other women. First up was Lynsey, from Bury St Edmunds. She was exactly the sort of woman I am looking for, but I've never emailed her in the past because of where she lives. In her (not particularly interesting) profile, she went on about how she was prepared to share hair products (she's got very short hair), how she liked country walks and arts and culture, and how she travelled around East Anglia writing about historical places. I began my email: 'Thought I'd drop you a line because I can't believe the price of L'Oréal Fibre Paste these days and am desperately looking for someone to share the cost.' I went on to highlight how much we had in common by saying that I'm a journalist who works for Museums Journal, and that I'm going walking in the Peak District this weekend.

My second email was to Daisychain, an attractive (short-haired, of course) Kiwi girl living in Richmond. Her profile was rambling and provided me with little to get my teeth into. The only line I could really pick up on (without resorting to: 'So you like going out? So do I. You like good food? Me too. You enjoy music? What a coincidence, I do too') was when she said that she like a range of books, including biographies of 'anyone who has done anything amazing/inspirational - and that doesn't include Jordan.' My email drew parallels between our interests, and concluded: 'I agree with you about Jordan’s book. I don’t know how anyone could prefer it to Kerry Katona’s - now she’s an inspiration.'

My final email was to Explorergirl, who lived in Southampton. Her profile was non-descript, but revealed that she was a journalist with a passion for travel. As a journalist who has been to nearly 60 countries, that surely gives us a good starting point. My email was chatty but, hard as it is to believe, sarcasm free. I also pointed out that I've got no ties to Essex (my profile states this as well).

Before I reveal the outcome (as if it's even in doubt), I should reiterate that, as usual, I fulfilled all three women's basic criteria (age, height, education, ethnicity etc). Although none of them were new members, they hadn't received an awful lot of winks or views. Lynsey, probably because of her Suffolk location, had received only 100 winks, which is ridiculously low for a woman (Mavis is approaching 200 and has been on the site only a fortnight). As men are far more likely to wink than email, I would confidently assert that she has had fewer than 10 emails, most of which will have been from nutters (Mavis was telling me that random blokes send her pictures of their dicks).

So, drum roll...... All three women read their emails within six hours of me sending them. Explorergirl and Daisychain at least had the courtesy to look at my profile. But none of them considered me worthy of a reply.

Mavis is still keen to pursue things and has sent me a couple of emails since her rant. I will meet her, even though I have recently found out she is a smoker, which is a huge turn-off. And that she's an only child (I'm looking for some surrogate bothers and sisters). And that she lives out in the Essex sticks (and I'm looking for someone to explore London with). But I'm angry that I don't get a choice in who I go out with. I have to meet the only women that will reply to my emails. And I deserve better than that.

Too much information

Mavis has very quickly developed into my most successful internet dalliance. In the 12 days since my first email, we must have exchanged 400 texts, emails and instant chat messages. Almost every evening that we have both been at home, we have been 'talking' all night and well into the early hours.

Last Wednesday was the day things started to get particularly intense. I returned from a night out at about 01.15 and logged on to Dating Direct to see whether Mavis had been in touch. She had sent me a couple of emails earlier in the evening. I read them and decided to send her my mobile number. Within 10 minutes, Mavis had emailed and texted me. She had been clearly waiting for me to get home.

The following night, we exchanged probably 80 messages. Mavis told me that she had recently come out of a two-year relationship during which they had only slept together three times. She said she was dying for some physical intimacy (in her profile, she had said said that she was looking to do some 'cavorting'; I have probably looked at 1,000 online profiles over the past two years and have never seen such a blunt assertion). Mavis was growing on me all the time.

On Thursday night, she went home to Scotland to attend a friend's wedding. We exchanged a few messages during the evening. When I woke up on Friday morning, I had three messages on my phone from Mavis. On reading them, I discovered that her father was suffering from terminal cancer and that Mavis and her mum were, quite understandably, emotional wrecks whenever she went home.

It is often said that I am a good listener and that I am able to extract information that people had no intention of divulging - but that's generally face to face. Mavis admitted that she had no intention of telling me about her father - it had just slipped out. But she's more than happy to talk about every other apect of her life. I once woke up to find an email containing a stream of consciousness, from what school plays she appeared in to the fact that she once shook Pete Tong's hand. I know exactly where and what her tattoo is. I even know that - and excuse me for being so frank, but I'm trying to illustrate a point - that Mavis finds it easy to reach orgasm when she's on top (no, I didn't ask).

Mavis, meanwhile, thinks that I'm a graffiti artist called Dweezil, who lives in a treehouse in Epping Forest. She obviously doesn't believe it (at least I hope she doesn't), but I have revealed very little about myself beyond which she can read in my online profile.

The internet confers a level of intimacy and openness that would take months to build in the real world. As a consequence, it takes a lot of the fun out of getting to know someone new. It also takes away the air of mystique (which, unlike Mavis, I am keen to retain). I have arranged to meet Mavis on Saturday week. But I'm not looking forward to it as much as I was a few days ago. Familiarity does not necessarily breed content, but it certainly removes the frisson.

Direct hit

I didn’t feel that getting ignored by four women and then exchanging half-a-dozen emails with a woman I didn’t fancy was value for my £4.95 subscription to Dating Direct. So I bit the bullet and dipped my toe back in the water.

As none of the existing two million women on the website held any interest for me, I started searching through the new members. Suddenly I came across a short-haired woman who, on a superficial level, certainly caught my eye. As I read further, it transpired that Sisterbliss was ticking all of the boxes. She had a degree, was 35, had no children, was quite sporty and was shorter (and weighed less) than me. She even lived in Essex (although she was at pains to point out that she had relocated there).

The problem was that her profile was bland. It started: 'I'm quite straightforward really. I love music, I love the outdoors, I love gigs and I love food and wine.' Not only that, but it was full of things that she wanted to do: 'I really want to travel more and I’m frustrated that I’ve not got back into running as much as I’d like.' Such comments frustrate me – just do it. And as for starting your profile – the first line that any bloke will read – 'I’m quite straightforward really' beggared belief. If you can’t think of anything more original, at least say: 'I’m amazing, really.'

Anyway, I cobbled together a reasonable email and sent it early on Friday evening. Three hours later, I got the following response: 'I’m just heading out for 20 minutes but your banter’s definitely worth a reply. Will email in a bit. M' Despite the fact that she was the first woman I had ever emailed who didn’t harp on about looking for someone with a great sense of humour and how she loved cheekiness and banter, she was the almost the first recipient of one of my emails to appreciate my style (and I hadn’t even started).

An hour later, M (let’s call her Mavis) sent me a long rambling stream of consciousness. It wasn’t particularly interesting, but she revealed that she was Scottish (which is my favourite accent). In the absence of anyone else to email (and I did fancy her picture), we exchanged a couple of emails over the course of Saturday.

On Sunday, I decided to subject Mavis to by multiple choice quiz (see 15/09). She played along gamely – and even got most of the answers right. Although all the banter and humour was from my side, she was certainly enjoying herself, as illustrated by this exchange (punctuation corrected).

Me: 'I’m slightly concerned about that hand-shaped protuberance on your chin [in her profile picture, Mavis is resting her head on one hand].'
Mavis: 'The hand-shaped protuberance (good word!) comes and goes as it pleases. I have no influence over the little monkey. My lexicon is expanding on a minute-by-minute basis tonight. D’you reckon I could get "protuberance" into a psychology report tomorrow?'
Me: 'There is a type of ant in Papua New Guinea called a "tuber ant". Now like most insect colonies, they are ranked and named according to their function (queen bee, drone bee, worker bee etc). The leaders of the colony are called the "prominent tuber ants", which is often abbreviated to "pro tuber ants". Not sure how you can work that into a psychology report, but good luck anyway.'
Mavis: 'Lol. You make me chuckle.'

Perhaps not quite on a par with Edmund Blackadder’s 'great booze-up' explanation – but a more challenging ask.

During the course of the evening, we exchanged 22 emails – and it probably would have gone on longer had I not called it a night at 23.30. Mavis signed off: 'Night hon. Good speaking to you. You’ve brightened up an otherwise uneventful night in on my own. You make me laugh and you don't creep me out in the slightest (which is a lot to be said given a lot of the men on this website!). And you've sparked more than a bit of interest. Sleep well. Speak soon x'

So it looks as if within a couple of weeks, I’ll be going on my first date of the year. Unless, of course, Mavis gets the hump when I tell her I’m in the Swiss navy.

Hitting the Dec

I have already cancelled my subscription to Dating Direct. As predicted, none of the women whom I emailed ‘cold’ have replied.

Of course, SELondonlass (Claire) was keen to chat. We exchanged a couple of emails a day for a few days, but by Friday afternoon, I realised that we were going nowhere. I had established that she ticked very few of the boxes that I want ticked: she hasn’t travelled, hasn’t been to university, doesn’t have her own place, doesn’t have a great job and isn’t sporty (yes I know, I’m too fussy). Now while none of these is a deal-breaker in isolation, when combined with my previous, even more shallow, reservation (see 10/09), I realised that the most I wanted from Claire was friendship (she might have a nice mate, after all).

Claire’s replies to my’psychometric profiling test’ were the final straw. It’s something I’ve tried a few times, and the women with whom I am really connecting, lap it up (Stan, with whom I had amazing online chemistry, even sent me her own set of questions). Basically, I just send 10 random questions (such as ‘ketchup or brown sauce?’ and ‘Ant or Dec?’) and ask the woman to pick one. There are no right or wrong answers. It’s just a bit of fun – and the reasons are often entertaining. Anyway, not only did Claire answer either ‘both’ or give an option not provided (‘mayonnaise’ to the sauce question, for example), but she revealed a hatred for the royal family (which I can just about accept, although I find it highly objectionable), but also for Ant and Dec (which I find equally objectionable and can’t accept). When she ended her email by asking me my ‘porn name’ (one of the least amusing and most pointless diversions I have ever heard – it’s Goldie Jackson, by the way), I decided that I had wasted enough time on Claire.

Slipping through the net

It hardly ranks alongside the prophecies of Nostradamus or gypsy Rosie Lee, who turned up annually with Billy Smart's Circus on Wanstead Flats to con the gullible out of a couple of quid to tell them that they were going to meet a 'mysterious stranger', but I was right. My prediction that I would be ignored by every woman that I decided to email on Dating Direct was spot on. Well, almost.

First up was Willow, a 33-year-old from south London. Her profile was, truth be told, pretentious. The first three words were: 'Cuneiform self-advertisement.' Later on, she claimed that she likes 'impeccable grammar and cheekiness'. Now that's a challenge, if ever I've heard one. My email began: 'How could I possibly resist emailing the writer of a profile that starts with a word I had to look up?' A couple of sentences later, I wrote: 'Anyway, impeccable grammar is equally important to me. So as you proclaim to love cheekiness, perhaps I may point out a couple of solecisms in your profile – and even a spelling mistake.' The rest of the email was quite witty and well crafted (and I would confidently state that the grammar was impeccable).

Next was Cheeky Sunflower, a 33-year-old from Baker Street (must be one of Gerry Rafferty's neighbours). She was the first woman that I had ever emailed who didn't have a picture on her profile (although she did when I first put her in my 'favourites', so I knew what she looked like). Her profile was nothing special and gave me no opportunities to be creative. So I just dropped her a line making reference to the many things we had in common. It wasn't a particularly great email, but women without pictures get very little interest, so I imagined that she would be glad of some attention. And if it's the sarcasm (I like to call it banter) that is putting people off (rather than the shiny-faced, toothy-grinned pictures), there was no excuse this time (apart from the fact that I mentioned Will4Adventure ­– that’s another t-shirt you owe me, Legon ­– in reference to the fact that she liked hiking).

Third was Trisha, a 31-year-old from south London. Her profile started: 'I'm fun, caring and cute blah blah blah (who is going to say they are dull, inconsiderate and ugly?) and never sarcastic. Much.' A woman after my own heart. She also said she was looking for 'downright cheekiness'. So I started my email: 'Seeing as I'm struggling to find a dull, inconsiderate and ugly woman, thought I might as well email you.' It was a perfectly good email ­– clever, without being too sarcastic.

Next up was BongoBongo. She had winked at me in May (see 13/05) and when I emailed her, she seemed pretty keen (despite having had lots of winks, she said that she was ‘really glad that I had contacted her’). We exchanged a couple of messages, but as my subscription was about to run out, I gave her my personal email address. But I never heard from her again. Anyway, I sent her a cheeky one-line email about how I told four months ago that you can’t be ‘slightly obsessed’ (it was something we had previously shared a joke about).

Finally, it was the turn of SELondonlass. I would never have stumbled across her profile because she had left so many of the questions unanswered. But she had winked at me a couple of weeks ago. Her profile was one of the best I had read – well written and irreverent – and because it was so rare for me to receive any interest from a London-based, British woman with a picture on her profile, I felt duty bound to contact her. The problem was that not only was she based in an area of town that I wouldn’t travel to even to watch Kelly Brook and Gemma Atkinson in a naked mud-wrestling bout, but (and I’m donning my flak-jacket here, in anticipation of the ‘shallow’ and ‘too choosy’ accusations that are set to be hurled my way), but I didn’t fancy her. I know that thumbnail pictures are never particularly flattering, but you can still get an inkling of what somebody looks like (and bear in mind that people obviously put up their most flattering photos). And although I much prefer curvy women (give me Kate Winslet over Kate Moss every time), SELondonlass looked as if she would tip the scales at twice my weight. Anyway, the email I sent was quite cheeky.

Within 24 hours, all five women had read my emails. They all checked out my profile, with the exception of Willow. As usual, I had contacted women from whom I could realistically expect a response (I live in the right part of the country, am the right age etc). But four days later, I have received only one reply ­­– and it you can guess whom from.

Now don’t get me wrong, SELondonlass (her name is Claire) is a pleasant enough person. She writes pretty decent emails, and although there hasn’t been any banter, in the five irreverent emails to have so far passed between us, we have discussed Miami Vice’s Crockett and Tubbs’ dress sense, car accidents that we have had and the colour of her sofa. All quite entertaining. But in only her second email, Claire managed to reinforce all my earlier fears: ‘Nicole Kidman appears both see-through in acting and physical being (sic). She has become intolerably thin, presenting a completely ridiculous idea of beauty that most young girls cannot begin to emulate in any healthy way.’

I’m laughing about the situation, but in reality, I am beginning to despair. It really pees me off when women who saying they are looking for ‘cheekiness’ don’t even have the courtesy to reply to reply to a tongue-in-cheek email. There is nobody else on the site that I have got the slightest interest in emailing. And nobody in the UK, with a picture on their profile and no children, seems to have any interest in me. I even rewrote my profile to allude to the fact that I am financially secure and that I look younger than I am. But nothing has changed.

Park and ride?

Against my better judgement, I signed up for another month on Dating Direct this morning. But only because I was offered a 75% discount. I think £4.95 for a month's heartache, as every woman I email fails to reply, is reasonable value. At least it gives me something to moan about on here.

Going out last night cemented in my mind that I needed to dip another toe into the cyberdating pool. I went to Wembley to watch the England match with my closest female friend (who is also single). We then travelled across London to a not-particularly-close-friend-of-her's birthday do. She knew two people there and I knew nobody. After she had said hello to the birthday boys (they were twins), we just spent the evening talking to each other. It seemed such a waste. I don't think I've ever been to a pub with so many attractive twenty- and thirtysomething women (how I wish there was such a venue within walking distance of my flat, rather than a 90-minute Tube ride away). But neither of us had the inclination (or enough alcohol inside of us) to go and speak to anyone.

As I typed in my credit card details this morning, I thought back to a Sunday morning six weeks ago. I was in Shanghai, and wandered into the People's Park. I was greeted by the bizarre sight of hundreds of pieces of A4 paper pinned wherever they could be - on fences, hedges, trees and park benches. Some were even stuck to handbags placed on the ground. Around some of the pieces were large groups of elderly people. Around others just a couple. Others had nobody near them. Some of the larger groups of people were animated, clearly deep in some serious negotiations.

I walked round transfixed, trying to get close enough to read what was on the paper. Of course, it was all in Chinese. But some had a picture on of either a man or woman in their twenties or thirties. Suddenly, someone came up to me and asked whether I knew what was going on. She explained that it was parents 'advertising' their single children to other parents with offspring they were looking to marry off. I was told that as a result of China's one-child policy, the country had a huge surplus of bachelors (my experiences would suggest that it's the same in London). It was a cross between speed-dating for parents and an arranged marriage.

I walked on further and found a couple of profiles with some English on. Among the featured information was age, height, weight and income. I stumbled upon a particularly heated discussion and started to take some pictures. A woman rushed over to stop me. How did she know that I wasn't looking for a bride, and was just taking a picture, so that I could take it away for someone to translate? I found it a fascinating experience, even more so because none of the people being 'offered' was present. They must all have been sitting at home, too embarrassed by their parents' actions.

As I walked away, I imagined a similar scenario taking place in Epping Forest. I couldn't suppress a wry smile as I thought about the sort of woman my parents would try to set me up with (my mum always talks about she would me to get together with my downstairs neighbour, who although very friendly and personable, is very Essex). My strategy may not be bearing a lot of fruit at the moment, but I'm the only one who knows what I'm looking for.