The other night I was feeling frustrated with myself, for the usual reasons. Which mainly come down to being 32 and single. Let’s face it, the world is made for and maintained by smug couples; practically any and every social activity you can name is pretty much designed to be done as a twosome at least. Restaurants look askance at the single diner, and buying a cinema ticket for one is about as uncomfortable as discussing masturbation with the ticket seller- thank goodness for online booking. I’m at a distinct disadvantage when it comes to finding Someone, however, as I don’t live in a town with that many young single people- one of the perils of moving to a small town is that everybody is attached to people they’ve known since school, whereas I tend to discard acquaintances far more casually than crisp packets- at least I take the trouble to put crisp packets in the bin. My previous attempts at Doing Something seem to have come to naught, as my piece on speed dating shows. And as to the consequences of wasting eleven years of my life in evangelical Christianity- suffice to say that I’ve had enough of suppressing every attraction I feel, and I’m not going to rule anybody out because she doesn’t go to church every Sunday.

I say "she", and I’m concentrating on girls here; it’s strange, because in one way I don’t think I experience desire for either sex at all, but reading Jamie O’Neill’s At Swim, Two Boys in the summer made me realise that I’m primarily straight (I don’t think I’m disappointing anybody there). When I say that I don’t think I experience desire, I’m thinking primarily of physical desire- it’s as if there’s a connection missing between the part of me that finds a woman attractive and the part that should be doing something about it. God, I need therapy. I’m not even sure that I’m made for emotional involvement, and can’t help thinking that if I had to deal with somebody else’s emotional life as well as my own, I’d be permanently in tears. But I want to be with somebody. I want to make somebody happy, to have somebody to share my little frustrations and major fears with and to be able to give of myself to some lucky woman. And I want to get a Valentine that doesn’t have a crow sitting on its head.

Hence The Plan.

So what am I going to do? Simply put, I’m going to actively look for somebody with whom I can spend the rest of my days, and every week or so I’ll post an update. Kind of a cross between Bridget Jones and those forms you get when you’re claiming the dole. I’ll have to start next week now, but to begin with I’ll introduce you to some of the contenders:

Pro: Incredibly cute, looks like Elisabeth Sladen circa 1975, can read French books, lovely sway to the hips when she walks, has a nice style and tends to gush when she talks. Also responded to one of my witticisms when we caught the lift together last week.

Con: Work colleague, difficult to find a pretext to talk to her because we’re in different teams, eats fried egg sandwiches. Am now aware that I’m idolising her beyond reason, but then I do that with most women.

Pro: We’ve been penpals for over ten years now and know pretty much all there is to know about each other. Similar tastes and values but not so similar as to be boring to each other. MSN chats most Sunday evenings.

Con: In California. Has been through an abusive marriage (and no, she wasn’t giving the abuse). I have no idea what she looks like.