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She tells me a hair raising story about accidentally flirting with two brothers through Tinder at the same time. It turns out she has another date later on that evening - I'm merely one in a parade of meet-ups.
She loves Tinder, and homes in on the secret of its popularity: it's the first dating app that's better for women than men, because it puts them in control.
He immediately starts riffling through my possible matches. It's only after a small amount of conversation with some of my matches that I realise my i Phone thinks it's in Texas.
Of course, there are still creeps - many of them - but they are easily blocked and ignored.
I know that it's imperative I ignore the voice in my head telling me I'm a failure: a man who can't even get a date on an app that's supposedly designed for casual sexaholics. Sunday I meet the lady for drinks on the Southbank.
Almost against my own will, I reach for my phone and start swiping. It takes a while (you have to put the time in with online dating, and Tinder is no different), but I eventually manage to arrange a date with a pretty lady for Sunday afternoon. We have a lovely chat in the sun about online dating, hookup apps, all the rest of it.
Besides, she likes the occasional "dick pic", she says.
My date tells me she blocks most people who send her sleazy messages and only dates people who can spell. We part, and agree we'll see each other again as friends.