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New York, New York: Liz on a date in Mahattan He sits down. He orders me another glass of champagne, and tells me about his ex-wife.'She was great eye candy,' he says, confirming that all men would like you to believe the women in their lives are great beauties.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.
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.
My friend Kerry, tired of my moaning, had told me about an upmarket dating agency that takes on only high-achieving rich people.
'You need someone generous,' she said, my husband's name unspoken between us, 'with a bank account, not a piggy bank'.
I tell her I'd prefer someone around my own age (she tells me I don't look 50, and am in fact 'slim, fashionable and gorgeous', which makes me want to date her), but they must be boyish rather than Steptoe-like (I tell her Imran Khan could be her template, although I wouldn't date him as I don't think my cats would want to live in Pakistan).
I'm not interested in the boring banker types that make up the bulk of her clients.And so, just before Christmas, I meet Mairead Molloy.