Doctor Love

Some skills in life take a great deal of time, practice and dedication to acquire and refine. Others you just kind of pick up, through habitual use, voluntary or otherwise. Today it occurred to me that with no prior intent I have nonetheless become Doctor Love.

It’s true, I had no idea that this was the role that life would bestow upon me but a friend of mine has been unwittingly honing my skills for the past 18 months or so. He has, you see, been chancing his arm at internet dating despite the fact that he doesn’t own a computer. That’s where I come in. Where I work I am considered to be ‘quite handy’ on a PC, which is probably just because many of my colleagues don’t spend as much time on theirs as I do mine. In the kingdom of the blind, etc. etc. So anyway, 18 months ago I agreed, somewhat naively, to assist my friend by setting up an online profile for him with a view to pairing him up with some of the nice ladies of Suffolk. How hard could it be?

It has been a nightmare. His written English isn’t too good (to put it mildly) so I have been writing all the messages for him, employing every trick in the book to make him stand out. During this time it would be no exaggeration to say that we have contacted just about every woman in a 20 mile radius and employed an increasing lack of discrimination. 21 with four kids and an incontinent dog? She must be worth a punt. Fifty a day smoker with a suspended sentence for shoplifting in Lidl? We mustn’t judge. A graph has been hanging over his head, one axis marked ‘time’ and the other ‘desperation’; it charts a perfect 45 degree incline that is currently orbiting Jupiter. There have been some promising moments, but mostly we have succeeded only in finding people who are… well… not the full ticket. Quirky, if you will. Different.

Total bloody loons.

Some short lived flings have come and gone but we are, essentially, no further forward. Worryingly, my friend is now beginning to doubt that the internet is the answer and is suggesting that I accompany him on singles nights and speed dating. This is not good at all. We went to one singles night last year that was so disastrous it made the Titanic look like a mild mishap. The scars are still red. To his credit though (and my annoyance), my friend remains upbeat. ‘I don’t know why you don’t try this yourself,’ he asks me on an almost daily basis as we scour the dregs of the online hopefuls. ‘Don’t you worry that you’ll end up alone?’ Actually, I don’t. After witnessing barrel scraping of this magnitude, I am more convinced than ever that singledom is the lesser of two evils. He still rings me whenever he’s confused about what to do with his chosen lady of the moment, as if I have a clue what I’m talking about. It seems to work, though – I just apply basic logic and reason and see what comes out the other end. I can talk a good game, but I’m getting really tired of it. It’s times like these that I wish I had some faith to pray to, some hope that the whole process will be taken out of my hands by a merciful deity. Why are some people so terrified of being alone? You can get used to anything if you give it a chance.

If you happen to need any relationship advice, but the way, I’m happy to pass on my wealth of experience.  Just start your comments with ‘Dear Doctor Love’.