I have become invisible. That, or I’ve developed a hideous facial deformity, I’ve started exuding the tang of decomposing catfood and nobody dares tell me, or I’m suddenly dressing like a down-on-her-luck hooker … which in the recent weather, isn’t likely.

I don’t know how or when exactly this transformation took place, but  it must’ve been some time between Christmas and New Year (happy 2010 by the way, wow! snow! etc..) – because despite having returned to the quest for a literate date, hunted down book-loving gentlemen, and handed out no less than four (four!) cards in the last week, nobody has so far responded to my call.

It’s alarming, it’s baffling, and most of all it makes me sad. Not on my own behalf, because fun though it is to go on random blind dates, I’m not seriously expecting to meet the love of my life through Operation Cover Girl (hoping, but not expecting).

No, it saddens me because in the end it’s you, dear reader(s), that these, callous, inconsiderate total strangers are letting down by not getting back to me. The selfish bastards! Don’t they know that people must be entertained, and they are my dancing hamsters? Come on guys, it’s only a drink. I’ve got a blog to write here!

Still, in the absence of new dates (the Iris Murdoch-reading guy from December is still in play, by the way, but he’s not around till next week), there’s always CG’s so-far-reliable standby, which is talking to my male friends about their dating experiences; especially their rubbish ones. (For the purposes of this column, I’m going to blithely assume that most people reading this are female, and thus interested in the male take on this whole love-seeking lark. For the blokes, the following may well prove a highly instructive lesson in what to avoid like the plague when talking to women, online or off).

So, meet Robert. Robert is a former student of mine (and before you recoil in moral horror I should add that he’s around my age, and that we didn’t start hanging out together until his course was over). Robert is tall, fun, clever, and looks kind of like a Bond villain. He’s also the uncrowned king of the online dating faux-pas, and has an exhaustive list of things not to say – although apparently nobody’s told him this.

Until now I’ve found Robert’s persistent singleness puzzling; fair enough, he’s losing his hair, but he’s got a lovely voice, great teeth and an excellent sense of humour; plus he’s had one of those lives you’re not allowed to make up unless you’re Martin Amis. An Oxford student-cum- international DJ in his teens and 20s, he’s lived in Paris, married and divorced a Russian girl (now an Orthodox celibate), and spent much of 2009 lobbying in Copenhagen and unsuccessfully trying to pull various prime ministers’ girlfriends. What’s not to like, right?

But the mystery surrounding Robert’s luckless love-life evaporates when he tells me how he tends to flirt with people online: i.e. very, very badly, like something out of Carry On Emmanuelle, or possibly a 1980s government information film about sexual harassment in the workplace.

He’s baffled as to why some of the girls who initially express interest on insert-dating-site-here.com suddenly go “all silent and weird” when they have an online chat. I wonder aloud what exactly these chats consist of.

“Well,” he tells me, “people like it when you mention something in their profile photo, you know – ask a question, express an interest,”

“Textbook so far,” I agree.

“And this one girl was wearing a sort of sailor top in her picture, so I sent her a message saying –“

“Aw,” I interrupt indulgently. “Was it something cheesy like ‘I’d like to sail away with you’ … or ‘you’re the captain of my heart’?”

(Lame but sweet, right? Nothing wrong with that, surely?)

Robert looks blank. “No,” he says, “I told her I’d like to pump her bilges.”

“You said what?”

“What? It’s a sailing reference isn’t it? I though it was quite clever …”

“It’s disgusting.”

Robert maintains that it’s “just a bit saucy”. If this is his idea of online flirtation God knows what he says on a real date, but I reckon he’s been lucky to avoid serious injury or prison time so far.

I tell him that she was probably turned off by someone coming on quite so strong (and so, well, ewww). I further inform him that it’s about the worst thing I’ve heard someone say since a friend’s (slightly older) girlfriend asked him if a dress made her look like mutton dressed as lamb, and he replied, unthinkingly, that  the effect was more lamb dressed as jailbait.

Unfortunately I’m not sure Robert believes me that his chat-up lines could be toned down. I think he thinks I’m being difficult. I ask when else it ‘s gone wrong.

“Well, there was a girl who was standing in front of a wall and there was something shiny hanging on it … I couldn’t make out what it was so I asked her if it was handcuffs and she freaked out.”

“A shiny thing, hmm … could it have been tinsel? Given the season?”

Robert supposes so, but insists it looked like a pair of handcuffs. I tell him that even if it was, she might not have wanted to tell him that, at least until she knew him better. Us ladies, I remind him, are delicate, gazelle-like creatures who must be stalked and coaxed with sweetness and sensitivity, not stampeding elephants to be shot point-blank with a massive, innuendo-laden tranquilliser dart.

He looks thoughtful and agrees that perhaps a change in approach would pay dividends. Great! I think – even if I can’t pull, I can help my friends change their behaviour and find romance, and maybe that’s what it’s all about. Job done, as Gordon Ramsay might say.

As I stand up to leave Robert signals for me to wait, and pulls a CD out of his bag, handing it to me.

“Happy late Christmas,” he says. It’s selections from an Italian opera; I’ve never heard of the piece, but I love a bit of classical, me, and I’m instantly disarmed by this thoughtful and completely unexpected gift. Perhaps there’s hope for Robert after all?

“Robert thank you, that’s so kind! I don’t have anything for you, sorry …”

He waves his hand magnanimously. “Oh, no worries. It was an unwanted Christmas present from the ex; thought you might like it instead.”

Hmm.

Perhaps, I decide as I wave goodbye, I’ll stick with trying to sort out my own love-life before tackling someone else’s. Still, it’s kind of comforting to know that there are considerably more hopeless cases out there than me. And some of them – if not most – are even my friends.