In her second dispatch from the dating scene, Elizabeth Green - sister of Topshop boss Sir Philip - finds love. She's not sure she wants it, though
Imagine the scene. It's New Year's Eve, another bleak day and night ahead. My children are getting ready for the big night, although my daughter has my attitude. "It's just another night out - what a fuss," she says.
My plans for the evening were set when Karen, an old (single) friend, got in touch after many months with the offer of a party in Edgware. I dithered and dallied until deciding it was better than staying at home alone.
We set off on the journey across North London, hampered only by www.aa.com's directions and the borough of Barnet's lack of road signs. Eventually we found the house in a little close off the main street and went in.
Inside, we had to walk across the room with all eyes - particularly male ones - on us, to put our coats down while smiling weakly at people. Our hostess had told us there would be men - desperate men at that. If we girls are desperate, we hide it better, of course.
A Jewish gathering, and I didn't know anyone; was this a first? However, the man leaning against the wall in the kitchen looked very familiar - not handsome, but recognisable. I knew I'd seen him before. "What do you do for a living?' I asked. I knew if he said "wedding cars" he was the one on JDate who had arranged to walk my dogs with me, got flu and never rang again.
"Wedding cars," he said.
"We were going to dog-walk," I accused.
He looked at me. His eyes lit up. God was good - here was a second chance. I think his evening had just got better, too.
Karen found some people interested in ceroc and danced. I chatted - not just with Mr Wedding Cars, but with Mr Blue Check Shirt too. None of it was an effort.
At midnight we all popped party poppers, sipped sparkling wine and sang Auld Lang Syne. When I got home I put on the TV to try to recapture the new-year moment by watching the fireworks I'd left recording. Bad idea; fell asleep, another year ahead.
New Year's Day. Mr Wedding Cars and I walk the dogs, have lunch together with my 17-year-old son and we all go to the cinema, and, whoops, he thinks he's in love. Instant family heaven for a lonely man.
Mr Wedding Cars lives alone and had planned a solitary new year's day till we came along. Trouble is, I'm not sure. "Will you be my girlfriend? I want to be loved and adored and cuddled," he tells me. Don't we all, I muse.
"So, are you moving in this week or next?" I ask.
"Next," he says.
How funny, and how not. It seems he's fallen hard. But here's the question: why don't I want the ones that want me? How easy would it be to invite him for lunch and have him never leave. I know people who've done that with their new internet loves. But, I tell him, something stops me.
Am I spoilt? Ungrateful? Or just unleashed?
Mr Blue Check Shirt just rang to ask me for a drink, and someone else wants me to come for lunch on Monday. I think I'm becoming a serial luncher. How many lunches can one girl have? Many, many - I deserve it.
Late the next day, my daughter rang to see how my evening went. I mentioned Mr Wedding Cars.
"What's he like?" she asks (we always compare notes).
"Well, you know, he's kind of funny looking, but cute," I say.
"Just like our dogs," she replies.
Bad girl, but yes. I'm ready for excitement, adventure, love and thrills. I don't want dog-like devotion. Not yet.
For details of Elizabeth Green's Trusting Love relationship courses, email elizabeth @yestorelationships.co.uk