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.