Before we get started, you need to know that the man you fall in love with will bear absolutely no resemblance to the man you were planning to fall in love with. He will live an hour away from where you live, minimum. He will be wearing a shiny suit and, possibly, a brown shirt. And he’ll have the sort of baggage that requires its own baggage handler. This much you can guarantee.

Because one of the reasons you are single (and this is the only one that is strictly your fault) is that you have written off every kind of man who might conceivably cross your path. You have built a fortress out of your preconditions and you are glowering down from the battlements. Men do approach from time to time, but then they see the vats of boiling oil teetering on the ramparts and think better of it.

As far as you are concerned, this fortress is a normal precaution for vetting prospective men, and so it was, initially. Then time passed, you settled into a routine and now you are mistress of the You Won’t Get Past Me checklist.

As it happens, I was set up with the One at a lunch three years before the party at which we officially met. The reason the lunch doesn’t count as the first meeting is because we barely spoke, and the reason we didn’t speak is because I ran his details through the List database and, in 0.2 seconds, it came up with a You Cannot Be Serious rating. Of course it did! The One was very recently divorced (not for me, thanks). He had three children in tow (uh-oh). I think he’d had a savage £5 haircut, and I’m almost certain he was wearing the brown shirt. So, at that first meeting, I summoned the List and the List gave me permission to do nothing.

This List, let’s be clear, is not made up of sensible broad guidelines such as must not be married or should live on same continent; it is extremely specific. Here are some edited highlights from my List, and I’m not making a word of it up:

- Must have hair. Hair is good, but what if top of his List was “must have large breasts”? That puts a rather different complexion on it, doesn’t it?

- Must not have ex-wife or children. Like the pool isn’t small enough as it is.

- Must not wear fleeces. The bulky navy ones. I’m not going to budge on this one. Fleeces say you’re the kind of man who takes his wife to the pub for your anniversary dinner.

- Must not wear short-sleeved shirts. See fleeces. Add golf/ cricket/rugby club to anniversary venue.

- Must not wear jewellery. Although you can tell a lot from jewellery. Any man wearing a leather-thong necklace is certainly a narcissist who still imagines he could have been in the Rolling Stones. Pierced earrings past the age of 40 equal midlife-crisis man. Gold chains on a mahogany chest are the equivalent of the long little fingernail (just plain sleazy).

- Must have a good job, but not one that requires him to get up at 5.30am and take a laptop on holiday.

- Must not wear hoodies or V-neck sweaters with nothing underneath. Hoodies are for boys. And “nothing underneath” is another I Love Myself sign, only this time there’s also the suggestion of And I Am Hot in Bed.

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