My dating life in Dubai has gone from abysmal to non-existent. It turned out that Quentin, the vet, whom I thought had flirted with me during a drawn-out visit with my sick street cat, was merely incompetent.

My friend’s husband, Tony, picked me and the cat up in his Range Rover for the return visit. ‘Is your vet usually that awkward?’ Tony asked as we returned to the car. ‘I think even your cat was thinking, “Get me away from this weirdo.”
‘Thank you for enduring that cringe-worthy trip,’ I replied.
‘At one stage, I’m sure he asked your cat, “Come on, tell me what’s wrong.” But then he paused and actually waited for a response.’

Unfortunately Tony wasn’t exaggerating. On the plus side, Quentin hadn’t charged me for being unable to check the inside of the cat’s mouth.

I bumped into James (the guy who declared his love for me the first date and dumped me after the sixth) several times in a week, which coincided with our mutual friend sending me a picture of the two of them with the message, ‘James says he loves you.’

So I got in touch. A few preliminary messages led to me asking when he would take me out in his tinted-windowed new car. He took two weeks – which is the equivalent of six months in fast-paced Dubai – for him to respond.

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