I admit I'm a serial tosser dater. I don't wish to be a moron magnet but my track record is telling me it's time to admit defeat, join a nunnery (the one that Julie Andrews went to in The Sound of Music coz I know all the songs) and be done with dating forever.

My dating disasters strangely coincided with moving to Asia. Not only did I have the misfortune of increasing in dress size overnight - from a small in Europe to a large in Asia, but I also went from being a hot chick to the invisible woman.

Last Christmas (I feel a song coming...) my sympathetic friend bought me a copy of 'He's Just Not That into You' - I spent my Christmas day weeping. Finding a willing victim ain't easy on these shores. I'm obviously not alone, since the women's magazines are full of articles on 'How to Bag a Man.'

One mag went as far as to write a guide on which bars to frequent if you're looking to date a doctor or lawyer, and which ones to avoid because they're full of brokers. There are hoards of women on the man hunt. In turn, there are plenty of men looking for a relationship here - a one night relationship that is.

There is always the good old 'Law of Sod' to turn to at such bleak times. Take the following tips and I guarantee you'll meet the man of your dreams:-

1. Eat lots of cheese, yogurt & garlic and don't brush your teeth

2. Don't wash and acquire your own fruity scent

3. Don't wash your hair and let it go greasy and druffy

4. Dress so badly social services are likely to intervene

5. Wear passion killers if you're looking for a brief encounter

This is a tried and tested theory - you will meet someone you want to date! One drawback - he won't be at all interested as you'll be the woman of his nightmares! A total skankypants!

The 'Law of Sod' has a nasty habit of entering my life when least expected. Take last weekend, I'm having a wee tipple in a popular bar on Boat Quay when two hunky guys I'd briefly dated (more than one night though) joined me.

Since threesomes are the new couple (think Jude, Sadie and Kate) I was game for a sexy menage a trois...well so the copious amounts of alcohol told me! The boys persuaded the bar manager to give us use of his office.

Thankfully I still had the dignity to hide my face from him with my elegant Louis Vuitton handbag - but I was too sozzled to realize I held it lopsided and revealed most of my face to him! How embarrassing (though he probably makes a living from porn on the side judging by his willingness to let us use his office).

We stumbled around under the harsh glare of the office lights and it didn't feel very romantic at all. I promptly fell over on all fours and ended up with a staple wedged in my knee. At that point one of the boys lifted up my skirt and screamed hysterically "GRANNY PANTS!" Bugger, I'd forgotten I was wearing my tummy flatteners!

The ones with a cast iron girdle to hold-in my spare tire. I hadn't worn them in about three years - what were the odds on wearing them tonight of all nights!? The cruel 'Law of Sod' prevails.

The boys were rolling round in hysterics, all thoughts of a hot night gone, "Haha! Granny Pants! I can't believe you're wearing Granny Pants!" So much for my night of passion. A night of embarrassment more like, although the good thing about excessive amounts of alcohol is that you're too out of it to really care.