My dating life is becoming a little repetitive. The freed up Thursday slot that had previously been scheduled with the landlord travelling in Europe, who, it turned out, is living with his ‘ex’, was booked by an Italian, Alberto.

The dates were equally flashy. Swap the red Ferrari for a blue Bentley, swap One&Only The Palm for another branch of One&Only, throw in a return trip to Zuma, and my dates with Alberto were like those with the landlord. ‘These venues must be on the players’ circuit,’ Craig laughed, when I updated him. ‘As long as the staff didn’t offer you his usual table.’ The lifespan seemed pretty similar, too… The red flags were there, of course. Instead of a tipsy declaration of love during the first date à la James, I received an invite to jet away. The last time a holiday offer came up during a first meet, I ended up with a handbag as a consolation gift.

The messages leading up to the third date were becoming less frequent; Alberto was working ridiculously long hours during a big business deal. I WhatsApped him on the ominous Thursday. Here was his opportunity to postpone the date due to a heavy workload. There was a reply but no mention of the evening ahead. I messaged Samantha about my disappointment when I finished work. ‘Don’t be upset,’ she comforted. ‘They always get in touch; like bad pennies always turn up.’

Sure enough, the cancellation and apology message arrived at 8.30pm. Monique was full of sympathy. ‘What a tosser,’ she said.
‘Date a high flyer and that’s what you get,’ Mark said, practically. ‘A Bentley doesn’t pay for itself.’

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