While researching for my book, The Flirt Interpreter, I interviewed 100 men in four different international, Western cities. I asked them if they would like it if a woman approached them and asked them out. The answer was a resounding 'yes!' on both counts. Followed by 'as long as it's not done too aggressively'.
I slink over to the kitchen and scour the worktops for a tipple. I settle on a big bottle of Plymouth gin and glug as much as decency will allow into the nearest clean glass, before peeking around the kitchen, like a meerkat, on the search for tonic. I soon see a bottle, which is attached to the hand of God, or his nearest approximation on Earth.
After an unfortunate encounter with a young French boy, I had sworn to myself I would garner some 'me time' and step away from the fray. So I am wondering quite how I seem to have the grand total of four young men, of varying degrees of eligibility, all vying to arrive down my chimney this Christmas.