Get a new message on Plentyoffish.com - little minx called Michelle. Blonde and busty, with thick red lips that hint at promiscuity.
Ask if she's prepared to lie about how we met (yes); what she does for a living (nurse in a hospice); and how she'd entertain me on a long train journey.
"It depends how many dates we'd been on and whether the toilets were free," she replies to the latter, and I'm left consoling a little stiffy.
We hook up on Facebook. She comments on my status - marking her territory.
Even develop pet names: I'm her Tit Ed, she's my Flange. Affectionate abuse.
Hang on a minute, though - who's this Andy bloke writing on her wall?
Hey Michelle, thanks for today. You're an angel. See you next week xxx
Try to look at his profile - it's private. Cock.
Can't be doing with sloppy seconds. Decide to confront her.
Me: Hey you, how was your day? Been up to much? x
Flange: Alright Tit Ed, was just thinking about you. That seems to be happening a lot lately! Not a great day to be honest - been at work. Enough said, eh. How about you? x
Oh, she's good - very good.
Me: Oh, right. Saw that comment on your wall and thought you'd been doing something fun. Been at work too. Major drama with the snack machine. Mars bar never dropped out. Had no change left. Wasn't happy x
Flange: Grr, don't you hate it when that happens! No - afraid Andy isn't having much fun right now…he's a patient at the hospice x
Thank God for that.
Me: Fair enough. Anyway, logging off now - got to rustle up some tea. Speak soon x
Later that evening we discuss meeting up. Drinks in town - no train rides just yet. I'm her first online date, apparently. First and last.
Big day arrives. Scan through our messages - revision. Write a list of conversations on my mobile. If there's an awkward silence, I'll nip to the loo and swot up.
Sniff my bed sheets. Bit musty. Can't be bothered washing them now - they'll have to do.
We said 8pm but I arrive early. Find a prominent spot by the ticket booth. One or two strays wait nearby: a portly woman in a coral blouse; a middle-aged gent, hands cupped nervously behind his back.
It's 8.05pm and the gent is leading his date past a Big Issue vendor into the highstreet.
Glance at my mobile. She's probably stuck underground with no signal. Portly woman is no doubt waiting for someone on the same train.
Or not. It's 8.20pm and she's wobbled off in the din of another arrival.
The ticket inspector glances over. Thinks I've been stood up. Fake a yawn to show I'm relaxed.
I'll phone her. Ring...ring...ri...
...Hi, this is Michelle, leave a message and I'll get back to you.
Managed to avoid the pre-date call - so this is the first time I've heard her voice.
Hey Flange, it's Tit Ed, just wondering how long you're going to be - I'm standing here like a lemon? See you soon.
Check Facebook - kill a bit of time. Click on her page. Can't access it. Bit weird. Hold on - she's deleted me.
My heart sinks with embarrassment. Flange isn't coming. I have been stood up.
This time her mobile goes straight to answer phone.
Hey Flange, it's Tit Ed again. That name seems quite appropriate now. I'm just glad I didn't waste time cleaning my sheets. Anyway, you've clearly got mental issues - hope you find someone suitable. All the best.
The ticket inspector smirks as I amble away. Leave the phone against my ear - make it look like I'm simply being redirected elsewhere by a mate.
Turn on my laptop. She's disappeared from Plentyoffish.
Fall asleep on the sofa watching Stand By Me. Wake up at 3.47am with a stiff neck and a bruised ego. Maybe online dating is not for me...