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

On Sunday evening I went out with Man number 6 (Richard Gere) and what a contrast it was to the Man number 10 debacle! As ever, sophisticated and civilised No 6 took me out for dinner, then to a Belgian bar where we talked and slowly sipped a bowl of the most gorgeous beer I’ve ever tasted (it was like Demerera sugar).

He told me that he’s told his six-year-old daughter about me. (Gulp!)

I mentioned that I’d missed the last two episodes of Doctor Who and he said he had them recorded and suggested that we go back to his place and watch them. So we did. I sat on cushions on the floor and watched them both (God-like genius episodes, of course). He sat on the sofa and refilled my drink when it was empty and even stroked my hair! I had a really nice time.

It’s a very slow burning thing we’ve got going here – I only see him every few weeks but we’re becoming good friends and I feel quite relaxed with him. I don’t feel any anxious or overwhelming feelings of attraction but he is a lovely person and handsome in the extreme and it feels normal to walk along the street holding his hand.

Maybe my theory is right after all and we're slowly growing to like each other because neither of us seems anxious or over keen? I’m also quite reserved with him and I reveal myself a little bit at a time, which might seem more enigmatic than my usual spilling of my entire brain right out onto the table. I don’t know. It’s all good though.

Anyway, I’m due to go out with Man number 7 (fat Scouser) again later this week. :-) Wonder what's going to happen there?

Fickle? Who? me?

No I'm not.

What?

Stop it.