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

Since I last posted I’ve found and dated Man number 9. Our actual communication began weeks ago, as we’ve been sending each other really silly emails about biscuits and stuff. His profile on the dating site is really different, which was what first got me interested.

If you’ve been on any of these sites, you’ll know that it’s hard to find someone that doesn’t represent themselves with a string of clichés. One half says things like: “Life is for living” and “I live life to the full.” A classic is: “I like snuggling up in front of a log fire, watching a DVD with a nice bottle of wine,” Etc etc. And the other half seem to be into extreme and dangerous sports and have photos where they’re wrestling a crocodile mid-air after throwing themselves out of a plane or hurling themselves into a ravine with a bunjee rope tied around one toe and stuff. Some of them have so many extreeeeeeme hobbies that it seems unlikely that they’d find time between white water rafting sessions to fit a girlfriend into the picture. It makes you wonder why they’re advertising for a relationship at all, unless they’re liars and just trying to impress and they’re all really at home every night watching CSI.

Anyway, number 9’s profile was funny and unusual. I can’t put any of it here for fear of him being identified, but when I read it I laughed so much I snorted coffee out of my nose. But then I had a phone conversation with him a couple of weeks ago and wasn’t that interested. I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was because I was infatuated with the Scouser. So I stopped emailing him, and then the really silly emails gradually all just started up again – his utter daftness lured me in. He’s a musician, and although I’m well known as a musical wasteland the creative process is very similar to that of a writer – creative people are my favourites - so we've got a lot in common.

So there it was, bubbling along, until Wednesday this week when we talked on the phone again and ended up staying on the phone for over two hours. Then again the next day and again the next. We’d talked for a total of seven and a half hours by the time we set the date (the next day – yesterday).

I was so nervous about meeting him. It was worse than going to the dentist. We’d built up such a strong phone relationship that I was actually afraid that if we didn’t find each other physically attractive, that I’d feel a sense of loss.

I sent him a text saying: “You’d better not be a minger.” He replied: “I’m fucking gorgeous.”

Anyway, he was!

…and intelligent and witty and creative and imaginative and amazing.