BITING THE BULLET

I've finally done it. I've signed up and paid my dues for online dating. And it's all because of a super-hot Dutch girl who thus far has ignored my entreaties.

My original plan, as outlined here previously, was to get my mate Ian to schnorrer me a date with her on my behalf. That way I could still maintain my boast that I'm not desperate enough to have to resort to online dating.

Sadly, my plan failed on all fronts. Dutch bird never replied to Ian. I could let her go or pays my money and takes my chances. I chose the latter. And, after some prompting from my mate Stephen, I meekly updated my profile and entered my credit card details, and that was it: I had joined the international fraternity of online desperados.

So far, I must confess, it's been less than successful. First of all, my photos aren't yet online. They're awaiting approval, in case I've peppered my pics with penises, or my hairy chest is deemed pornographic.

Then there's the way you're matched. The site keeps on sending me what I can only describe as a gallery from hell; picture after picture of oversized, facially-challenged, hirsute girls, each one more desperate than the next. I hastily clicked "No" next to all of them, hoping that the next bunch would prove a little easier on the eye.

To be honest, after an hour's searching on the site, I've found a total of 10 girls - that's 10 out of thousands - who might, just might not have been a support act for the Elephant Man had they been born a century earlier (this of course excludes the six-foot tall, green-eyed Norwegian model who suprisingly doesn't keep kosher or go to synagogue).

So far, I've not received any replies; nulle points to me then, no dates and a £20 hole burning in my wallet for my troubles. Is this what love is?