You've got to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince.
This is the story of one woman dating 100 men in an effort to find Mr Right

I think it’s time to come clean about some things that have happened on dates that I haven’t mentioned due to acute embarrassment. Now there’s some distance between me and the dates, I’m finding it funny. Besides, it would be unfair of me to hide the gaffes that I’ve made when revealing the truth might prevent others from doing the same.

The first embarrassing moment was when I was in the club on the third date with Fat Scouser (Sinbad No 7). Now if any of you women watch those dodgy makeover programmes with Trinny and Susannah or that Gok fella, you’ll know what Magic Knickers are. Well, being drawn in to the undergarment marketing trap, I bought some and wore them on my date with No 7. Now my frock did have smooth lines and there were no lumps or bumps to be seen and I was impressed with the job done by the sturdy Magic Knicker.

Unfortunately, though, as he was sitting opposite me he leant forward to kiss me and felt the sides of my thighs. He stopped kissing me abruptly and felt again and said: “Have you got shorts on?”

I was absolutely mortified. I reacted by mumbling something about wearing boxer shorts and he seemed happy with that but it was awful! I was well aware that he might know the shameful truth as these unders have had mass coverage in the media lately.

I have to warn any girls here – DO NOT wear these dodgy pants EVER. First of all, they make you look ridiculous when your dress is off and even if no one is going to see them they make you feel really unsexy.

And what if you’re not as old fashioned as me and you do want to stay for a night of passion? Trinny and Susannah always say “Go to the loo and take them off beforehand.” But where do you put them? I have images of emergency plumbers all over the country fishing massive elasticated bloomers out of the U-bend.

Mine are now in the bin.

And, even worse than that, believe it or not was Monday’s date with Richard Gere. He’d made it all romantic, remember, with candle light and a table for two. Well I got a lift to his house with a friend who has one of those jobs that no one mentions. She’s a prostitute. Lovely girl she is and I’m not judgemental of what she does, it’s up to her.

Anyway, she’s a bit pushy and she wanted to come in to check him out (I think I mentioned that) so come in she did. She gave him the third degree and left. He hated her. She thought he was a ‘pretentious bastard’

I forgot that he knew she was a hooker and when she’d gone he was incredulous that I’d brought her to our date. He laughed about it though. I said I thought bringing a prostitute along was the etiquette. I was embarrassed though.

And even worse than that! I’ve got a cough and towards the end of a very romantic evening (and remember I was all dressed up in my posh finery) I coughed so hard that I let out a massive fart. I’m sure he heard it. I tried to cover it up by scraping the chair a few times, which must have looked really stupid and just made it worse. He’s a gentleman and he didn’t react – but I know he must have heard it.

I can only just think of this without blushing and wanting to die.

So I brought along a hooker to the date and then farted loudly.

That’s class that is.