If at first you don’t succeed, swipe swipe again.

The meeting place a zebra crossing, the time 8pm. With neither a flower nor a lapel in which to wear it, I would just have to go with the photo and trust that a holiday snap from the beach was enough of a likeness. She had my picture too and if all else failed; we could always call each other. The earlier plan to pick her up from the metro and go for a few drinks had been changed at the last minute and she was now driving. This hinted that the few wines she had mentioned had been scaled back to the singular and my initial enthusiasm was beset with doubt. Nonetheless, I was here now and waiting for her to park and join me.

Following a few text messages excusing the inevitable delay brought about by Friday evening traffic, I heard my name called and turned to see my date. Were it not for the fact she was calling my name and looking right at me, I doubt I could have picked her out of a line-up. In place of the, suspiciously in retrospect, young looking woman of my age with whom I’d spent the last few days chatting, stood her considerably elder self. With perhaps something over a decade between the pictures I had seen of her and the woman who now stood before me, I greeted her in as natural a manner as I could. I can’t account for any micro signals I may have given off, but I smiled and gave her the customary two kisses. Her last minute decision to come by car suggested her Tinder strategy had backfired on one or more occasions prior to today and I felt a little as if I had been brought here under false pretences.

Not the most auspicious start to a date but in for a penny and all that, I was here now. A little nervous, my date suggested we take a walk before going for a drink. Wondering what kind of evening lay ahead, I was happy enough to oblige if only to get myself back on an even keel. Given the awkward nature of our meeting and the obvious difference between the profile and the person, our conversation trod carefully around the elephant in the room as we meandered through the bars and terraces.

After some time we settled on a terrace for a drink and sat down. With the wine ordered we now faced each other studiously avoiding reality as we chatted in what was a pleasant enough countdown to parting company without seeming to rush.

I made short work of my first glass and noticing my date still had most of her wine left, I ordered another and a few tapas in as much need for respite as either food or drink.

Once a conversation returns to cover the weather for a second time it is probably fair to say it has run its course and we reached that point relatively quickly.

Over the past few months, my Tinder experience has been a bit of a mixed bag yielding in approximately equal numbers; good, bad and indifferent nights out. Even in cases where there was a clear lack of chemistry, there have been some very interesting chats and fun evenings and my Spanish has benefited immensely as a result. It is my first foray into dating apps and there are a few lessons I have taken from it. The most salient are that what you see is not always what you get, the camera lies, Photoshop and filters work online but not in real life and one’s age is a marketing choice. To some degree our imaginations are complicit as we project our wants and desires onto an often very brief profile and pictures should there actually be either. Putting oneself in the best light is the best strategy but the acid test comes at the moment of meeting and that can really put years on a person. Undeterred, the optimist in me continues swiping left and right as I enter my sixth month in Tinderland.