And where as on Grindr, if you asked for a date you'd be instantly blocked or given a 'lol' and another cock shot, on Tinder, it's clear that this is why we are here. You'll even end up talking about your 'interests.' Tinder isn't a knight in shining armour, a bunch of red roses or Romeo at the foot of your balcony, but it's a step in the right direction.
She never sends clients photos, but instead supplies a brief resume of their qualities. He says he likes good hotels and restaurants, long walks and log fires.She has, she says, an instinct for knowing who will hit it off. 'Looks are subjective,' she says, and adds 'he is charismatic and an animal lover with a Labrador.' That swings it. I tell him I live in the middle of Exmoor, have horses, dogs, cats and rescued farm animals, and am recently divorced.'You need someone generous,' she said, my husband's name unspoken between us, 'with a bank account, not a piggy bank'.And so, just before Christmas, I meet Mairead Molloy. This is basically how it works: You see a picture, you swipe left for 'NOPE' and right for 'LIKED.' Everyone else is doing the same and when you swipe right and he swipes right, you get the message "It's a match! Tinder isn't perfect - I'm sure there are tons of you who'll say that it's shallow and heartless to judge someone instantly on a photo (or often a range of photos, if you slow down and want to check each guy a bit more in depth).
I was envious about the simplicity and clarity of this new App. I soon found out that Tinder settings can be tweaked for boys who like boys, and good God, what a lot of boys there are.
Miraculously, given that I was the editor of a woman's fashion magazine, before meeting my husband in my early 40s (then a BBC journalist, he came to interview me; as soon as we got married, he gave up his job and started having sex with other women), I had only ever had three boyfriends, two of whom hadn't even liked me that much.
Liz Jones braves the snow in Times Square, New York, as she searches for Mr Right I think the reason I never met men was that I was either working, or sat at home, wishing they'd come to me, which, of course, they didn't.
I feel as though I'm about to sit my A-levels all over again. Mairead phones to tell me about M, who is 46, in wealth management, whatever that is, and a divorced father of two grown-up boys. We agree to meet the following night in the bar at Claridges. I buy a black lace skirt and silver platforms from Prada, and get my hair done.
I tell him I have dark hair, and will be wearing purple Burberry platforms. I invest in a Hollywood wax, and an all-over light sheen of fake tan.
Irish by birth, and having made a fortune in hotels, she now divides her time between Cannes and London.