London, August 2009. Having just dispatched a no-going-back email to the man who’s been toying with my affections for the last six months, I find myself at pretty much the loosest end I’ve ever experienced. I’m unemployed, heartbroken, and single for the first time in six years. Clearly the immediate solution is to get drunk. But what to do in the long term?

I’m depressingly at sea. What’s the London “dating scene” like these days? Is there even such a thing as a date, let alone a dating scene? Or is “dating” a beautiful lie the Americans feed us via Friends, Sex & the City and pretty much every other sitcom they produce?

According to my observations, most English people get together by meeting in a bar, club or at a party, falling into bed at the end of the night, and repeating the exercise if their partner looks even half as attractive in the morning as through beer goggles. That’s not dating, that’s mating. Surely dating is something that only happens via daunting sites like Match.com, or in downtown New York?

And more to the point, how on earth was I (alone, heartbroken, jobless etc. as I was) – to find someone to have a drink, let alone a snog with?

I didn’t want to sleep with my male friends (again) as since I’d last been single most of them had acquired long-term girlfriends, wives or babies, all of which can rather get in the way.

I also didn’t want to join a dating site, as

a) they cost money – and as far as I know didn’t do discounts for the unemployed

b) they scare me (“describe your favourite animal, and why” … No. Why? Piss off!)

c) a friend who had tried a few said they were incredibly time-consuming because only about 1% of the blokes were ever suitable for her tastes. And she’s not over-picky – she just wanted someone halfway intelligent and compatible, who wasn’t a loon.

Even worse, looking back over all my relationships, no particular “type” emerged – physically, anyway. I’ve been out with men ranging in age from 56 to 22, in height from 5’9” to 6’5” and in weight from ten stone to 17. I’ve have boyfriends who are blonds, redheaded and dark-haired (no bald guys, interestingly – although I’m not ruling them out). Some had facial hair, some didn’t; some were dandies, some slobs; some never wore anything but jeans and at least two had a thing for rubber, but nothing constituted a pattern.

They were all clever, interesting or talented in some way, and most had a pretty dark sense of humour, but how on earth was I supposed to tell that from someone’s choice of trainer or the cut of their hair? Looks were clearly not going to be a reliable guide to finding someone.
And yet, I couldn’t just go up to random people and ask them out … could I?

The trick was to try and get an idea of what was going on in their heads and take that as my cue, instead of relying on … well, hotness, which has varied massively (in objective terms) in my previous relationships. And how could I tell what my hapless potential victims were like on the inside?

Well, we’ve all seen people reading interesting books on the tube, right? I like books, I write, I teach, I have a degree in English – at least if someone’s reading an interesting book we’ll have something in common; something to talk about? Surely judging a man by his book’s cover was OK?

So a few weeks ago I had a bunch of cards printed up (see left) and I started keeping my eyes open for presentable guys aged between 25 and 35, reading interesting books on the tube. When I saw one, I would, if possible, give him a card with my email on it and wait for him to get in touch.

I was quite strict with myself: age, quality of book and whether I would feel comfortable having a drink with the man in question (as he appeared on first impressions, anyway) were my only, criteria, though there were a few exceptions and no-nos I developed as I went along. And this blog is going to tell you what’s happened so far, and what happens next … so stay tuned.

CG

P.S. Cover Girl’s Rules and guidelines for approaching strangers on the tube:

1) If they’re not reading a book OR literary magazine (NFTU, TLS, LRBm Granta etc.) YOU MAY NOT CARD THEM, HOWEVER HOT THEY ARE.

(This rule has already caused me much heartache).

2) If they are reading a book on the Banned Books list, YOU MAY NOT CARD THEM, YOU WILL PROBABLY LIVE TO REGRET IT.

The Banned Books list is completely personal and thoroughly hypocritical, and includes:

Anything by Andy McNab

Anything by Lee Child (I actually really like these, but in a trashy, ironic way, and it’s hard to detect irony down a tube carriage – so best not to take the risk)

Anything fantasy or science fiction (again, I love my sci-fi, but I’m allowed to because I’m female so it’s not a cliché. On the other hand, I would happily card a bloke reading a Marian Keyes or Catherine Cookson novel – for a start, I’d be intensely curious as to why he’s reading it, given that they’re aimed squarely at women).

Textbooks (boring, functional)

Foreign language books (My French is pretty lame and my other languages non-existent, so I’d be shafted if they didn’t speak English)

Books with disturbing titles, such as The Home Slaughterman, How to Pick Up Girls by Hypnosis, Taxidermy for Beginners, The Men’s Guide to Chlamydia (etc.)

(I have a feeling that as the weeks go on, more will be added to this list …)