I didn’t know that I was a “minesweeper”. I had no idea my flirting tactics identified me as part of a social group. According to the newly published Flirting for Dummies, I am one. A clear one. And I need help. The latest in the For Dummies series to hit the shelves, this book does what it says on the tin. It is written by Elizabeth Clark, a flirting and charisma expert. (Can you teach people either skill? “Oh, yes, you can,” she says. “Absolutely!”) According to her, “Everything is a flirting opportunity. When I go to Costa Coffee, I flirt with the waiters to get an extra biscuit.” All you need do to reach a similiar state of 24/7 love-snug-like nirvana is follow her advice.

Nirvana being some way off for me, aged 29 and, yes, single, I am willing to try out her tactics. First up, identifying your default flirting mode. Are you a “wallflower” or a “quietly confident person”? Or the “life and soul” type, too busy cracking the gags to notice the hottie in the corner? Or are you, like me, an aforementioned “minesweeper”? (Key characteristics: a scatter-gun approach, directed not at one vulnerable target but at a group, in an effort to make them all laugh. At once. And at you.)

In any case, Clark says we could probably all use some advice. Because, these days, the British are phenomenally bad at flirting. You only have to look at the proliferation of books, courses, websites and experts to see that we need help. “We’re getting terrible at it,” she laughs. “It’s the government’s fault. Children learn communication skills around the dinner table, but kids are spending more time at nursery, so it doesn’t happen. Then teenagers go out and get wasted to get it on.

And people are conditioned by this awful red-tape working environment. Which means they’re frightened to flirt, because it’s naughty.” Nonetheless, flirting should be “a basic skill”. All right, then. Show me.

Step one on the road to getting the old skill set stoked can be found in the face. “Facial language is the biggest part of flirting,” Clark says. “Having slightly longer than usual eye contact will create a different physiological effect.” Apparently, it’s best to start with the least risky tactic: eyebrow flashes. “Both eyebrows. A quick up, down — not a one-sided Roger Moore leer,” she instructs. Feeling a bit squeamish about all this coquettish behaviour (I may be a “minesweeper”, but I never normally flash), I commence with the non-risky brows.

Within days, they cause havoc. My newfound activities aren’t good for morale, a low point being when the man opposite me on the bus shoves his nose back into his Driving Theory Test book (no joke) in answer to my frenzied facial movements. Neither are they good for my punctuality — too much time seeking longer-than-comfortable eye contact with strangers will lead to lateness. As will dealing with the consequences of accidentally coming on to someone with a wife/girlfriend/Tourette’s.

Scarred but determined, I move further down the flirting line. Next up, dealing with my image. You’re encouraged to identify a dating icon (Gisele?), then emulate them (oh). It also helps to work on your voice: “If you look great, but talk in a nasal whine, people will form a poor impression of you and your confidence will be dented,” warns the book. I try dropping a “haitch” in the petrol station. I won’t be doing it again.

When in action, it all comes down to body language. The most basic move is called “showing a limb” (offering something like a seductive ankle to pique interest). I try this on several occasions. The only time someone responds is in Starbucks, at 7am. I let my hand hover over a male wrist as I reach for my skinny latte. He stops reaching and starts staring. I look down in embarrassment to find he is wearing shiny tan shoes. At which point, I rather wish I hadn’t bothered.

It does not go unnoticed that these tactics can have unintended consequences. There is a helpful little section in the book on sexual harassment, as well as some handy hints on how to look out for someone else on the pull — all the better for limiting the possibility of rejection. “They’ll be constantly scanning the room,” Clark explains. “Ladies will be standing in a more curvaceous shape [achieved by placing your weight on one leg], and men will stand square and tall. Leading from the groin.”

It all sounds rather combative, and more than a little offputting to me. Still, there are tenets in this book that probably would brighten one’s day — encouraging us as it does to breeze through life chatting, smiling and making eyes at everyone, from your boss to the barman to the man from IT. And some tips do work. The last time I genuinely did stare a stranger out across a crowded room, he mirrored my movements, then I didn’t leave his side for nine months. As Clark says, “Flirting gives you a positive lift.” Which, as the hours of hilarity my friends have enjoyed — at my expense — over the past few weeks have proved, is true. Flirting is fun. It makes you feel good. But just mind where you direct those eyebrows, lest you find yourself shacked up with the man from IT.

Flirting for Dummies by Elizabeth Clark (John Wiley & Sons £12.99)

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