All in the name of love

For months, I have run around this city looking for places for all you singles out there to meet Mr or Mrs Right. and realised that taking on Cupid's job wasn't as simple as it sounded.
So it is time to hang up my wings. After dragging myself to gyms, walking my dog and
popping down to the local hardware store, I will leave you with an ending, maybe even a happily-ever-after to my story!
If you have read my column from the beginning, you will know that I entered into this as a single girl, in the same boat as our many texters, looking for love in all the wrong places.
I thought the whole thing would be a laugh _ I would take my years of reading women's magazines and see if they knew what they were on about.

Was finding love really just a matter of opening up my eyes and looking?
Turns out they were right. When I was least expecting it, and in a place where I didn't think love would be hiding _ there it was.
After embarrassing myself while walking the dog (keep an eye out for my name for Best New Talent at this year's Logies) and grunting and groaning at the gym, it turned out that love was right under my nose.

Six-ish years ago, I started hanging out with a girl, Tanya, who had just moved to town. One day she took me to her place to pick up some clothes after a rather big night out. As I get out of the car, there stood this incredibly cute, tall, broad-shouldered boy around the same age as me. Just when I was about to blurt out `Who's the hottie?', Tanya introduced me to her brother Scott. So instead of asking her if I could marry him then and there, I followed the Girl Code like a good friend _ brothers are off-limits.
So I moved on, and consoled myself by perving on him when I would run into him or at different events Tanya invited me to. So years later, here I am running around town telling everyone how desperately single I am _ and I suddenly start seeing Scott everywhere. Also single, he popped up everywhere I seemed to go _ his nephew's birthday party, the local pub and we finally managed to get talking.
After a couple of beers, I finally worked out a way _ and the courage _ to exchange numbers, and although I felt guilty about breaking the Girl Code, we started seeing each other.
Lucky for me, the Girl Code is pretty flexible, and with Tanya's blessing and maybe a touch of fate, I have done something I was beginning to think I was never going to get the chance to do _ I changed my Facebook status to `In a relationship'.
He will totally kill me for everything I'm telling you, and you will probably be reaching for a bucket to be sick from way too much mush, but here it is. He's 27, a tradie of sorts (I'm still not sure of his exact job because it's way too technical for me so generally, and much to his disgust, I just say he digs holes for a living). He's cute and he's sweet and he has very quickly become my best friend which, in my opinion, is one of the most important things in a relationship.

Being Cupid for Townsville singles wasn't really meant to find me love _ I merely wanted to help out the city's singles and flex my writing muscles. I didn't mean to meet my own Mr Right.
For those of you sitting there thinking `OMG, why didn't she tell us?' _ since I met Scott, all I have wanted to do is write all about him like I was writing in my diary. But I hate reading that stuff, so lucky for you, I have saved it till the end to show you that you really can meet
nice, normal people around here. Turns out it's not about where you are, what you're wearing or how much you weigh _ it's about getting out there and being yourself. I'm not a perfect person _ I could work on my badonk-a-donk a bit more, and be nicer, or smarter or prettier, but in the end, I guess there is someone out there who will appreciate you if you appreciate yourself. Sounds a bit `self-help book', I know, but it's true.

It's been so much fun writing this _ I know most of my loyal readers are related to me _ but for those of you aren't, thanks for putting up with my craziness. You must have been thinking I was nuts! I guess I am, who else would have run around the football poking her cleavage into the faces of unsuspecting men to get their attention or making my poor dog run up to blokes in the hope of getting a date. Before I sign off I have a message for those of you who have been looking for love _ don't give up! If someone like me, the terminally single, can meet someone, it's only a matter of time before Mr or Ms Right for you comes waltzing down that grocery aisle.

As for the happily-ever-after I promised you, maybe there is a big white wedding, a white picket fence, 2.5 kids and a golden retriever in Scott's and my future or maybe not. I'll just have to leave that one with Cupid. I think he knows what he's doing after all .

Lost in a man's world

When it comes to cars I wish I could say that that the reason I don’t know anything about them is because I am missing that boy gene that gives you automatic knowledge of all things mechanical but the truth is I simply don’t care.

A car gets you from A to B and they invented mechanics and RACQ so people like me didn’t have to care, so hunting around on a Saturday for spark plugs or winch cables isn’t really high on my list of favourite things to do.

But I promised I’d play Cupid and if spending an hour in an auto shop means helping out singles then who am I to argue….. only problem is it turned out this time I am absolutely no help to you.

From the minute I walked into Super Cheap on the weekend rating the quality of men was the very last thing on my mind. Ducking in with a male companion as to not look like I was wandering around aimlessly and suspected of shoplifting, I realised that I was way out of my comfort zone. Surrounded by tyres and power tools I feel like I have entered a secret male domain that people with lady parts should dare dwell. While my fellow shopper disappears into the masses of car things I tried not to get disorientated by shelf upon shelf of all things male. Just when I was about be engulfed by boyness and start burping and craving beer, I spotted my salvation – PINK! In the sea of black and grey, winking at me like a shiny beacon of hope is a bright pink object. Not having my glasses on (I’m blind as a bat without them) I raced across the store to behold a lovely pink picnic blanket and then not far away cute pink butterfly seat covers and other pink car accessories.

Feeling slightly more at home, holding the picnic blanket like a child holds their teddy I glance around the shop hoping that my terrifying cross into the male domain was not all in vain. Although the shop is lacking in male customer perhaps I can gain some vital knowledge into the male mind. Would men look for women here or would the gleam for the new drills distract them from a single gal lurking by the rakes? Looking at my male companion lost in a sea of car parts I seriously begin to doubt that this is the place to pick up – other than asking me to help find bolts [which was stupid because a)- I don’t’ have my glasses on and b)- bolts????] he has completely forgotten that I exist.

I wonder if this is how men feel when they go shopping with us - surrounded by shoes do I block out men staring in my direction? Although a boy in a shoe store would be a fairly rare occurrence anyway.. at least the boys I know. I guess I will just chalk this one up to experience, the only thing I wanted to pick up at the Store was that pink picnic blanket!

Belle of the Beer Goggles Ball

I wish life was like a Disney movie.
A gorgeous girl in a fabulous frock goes to a magical ball and meets her
Prince Charming and falls madly in love.
In this day and age, it doesn’t seem feasible, but over the weekend in Mount
Isa, I’m sure there were girls who felt just like Giselle from Enchanted. Except with beer goggles.
Just to recap . . .my friend Keira and I were guests at Mount Isa’s very first Beer Goggles Ball, organised in response toMayor John Molony’s comment that all
‘beauty-disadvantaged’ women should flock to the western mining town because, due to a shortage of women, themen weren’t as picky as men in larger centres.
With international interest firmly focussed on our very own outback town, and spurred on by his comments, we decided to jump on a plane and head on out to the Isa to see if men really were everywhere and if they were where women could find them.
Well, if you were at the Overlander last Saturday night, then you would see that he was right.
But what he didn’t say was there are also a lot of single women around looking for the exact same thing. From 18-year-olds fresh on the dating scene to singles
of undisclosed ages, men and women flocked to the Beer Goggles Ball hoping that Cupid would look kindly upon them.

Grabbing my single gal pal Keira, promising her Prince Charming instead of the normal frogs,we donned our party frocks and joined the queue of girls searching for love.
After securing a table and a drink, Keira and I decided that working the room was better then sitting around waiting for the boys to come our way—after all, there
were some gorgeous girls around and snagging Mr Right would require some effort.
But being early, the boyswere a little shy and sober,and despite some smiles in their direction, nobody seemed ready to chat.
With cruising the room a technique best saved for later in the night, we went back to our table and decided to let the boys come to us.
Luckily we were joined at our table by two lovely guys who—although not our Prince Charmings—provided us with an insight into the Isa single scene and protection from the frogs that came our way.
With the beer flowing freely, everybody quickly loosened up and joined in the games like speed dating, pass the orange, and human musical chairs—all
providing fabulous entertainment.
My particular favourite was the musical chairs. Every guy had to grab the first available girl when the music stopped, resulting in more than one couple ending up in some compromising positions.
Sadly for us, while we were talking to our new friends and watching the games, the Prince Charmings were snapped up and swept outside in the moonlight by the
girls who were a little more focussed on the job at hand.
Couples left in pairs like Noah’sArk by the end of the night, leaving the unlucky few who didn’t manage to meet The One with our goggles and beer.
Oh well Keira honey, maybe next year!

Goggling the Guys

Toothbrush……. Check
Shampoo……. Got it
Underwear…….. Never leave home without them
Glass Slippers……. Somewhere in there
Beer Goggles…… You betcha!

I’m leaving town so I’m packing. I’m not going far and it’s only overnight and technically I’m not going till October but you can never be too prepared in my book and for this trip I want to make sure I’m ready.

You see I’m off to Mount Isa for the Beer Goggles Ball! Insert me jumping for joy here!

I’m sure you all read about it but in case you happen to live under a rock, Mount Isa Mayor John Moloney caused quite a stir recently with his comments in the Townsville Bulletin asking girls of average looks to jump on a plane and head to his city to keep the lonely miners company. Unhappy with the Mayor’s comments and wanting to show the world that Mount Isa loves all ladies, three local lovelies, Kylie Harries, Lisa Hurst and Eleanor Moran, have created the ball to bring together lonely hearts and raise money for the local Maternity Ward . The girls are calling on Singles from across the North to come to the ball and meet people of all looks, shapes and sizes – bugger Mayor Maloney .

So why am I so excited to be going? Now, like the girls, I can’t say that I’m a fan of the Mayor’s terminology either but buried deep within his now infamous words might just be a nugget of truth. If women are out numbering the men in Townsville and struggling to find what they are looking for and Mining cities just like the Isa are teaming with single, eligible, cashed up blokes then maybe we have been looking in the wrong place all along.

Dog walking or hitting the flicks certainly hasn’t unearthed much love potential here so jumping on a plane and heading to Mount Isa certainly can’t hurt and maybe, although yes he is a bonehead bloke, we might find that Mayor Maloney is actually onto something and love could be lurking at the end of a mine shaft!! Just think if the Mayor thinks it would be like shooting fish in a barrel for “ugly ducklings” imagine what good looking girls can do.

But before I embark on my trek to the Isa I wanted to see what male potential was out there and just what might be lurking down that mine shaft. Some time ago whispers of a dating website set up for miners swept the office so after a bit of googling and some well directed questions to the girls around the water cooler and I found a website to help my research. Now I know I said I wasn’t a fan of the whole online thing, again Gucci coat I’m not, but c’mon if your going to be hauling yourself to remote cities across the nation in the near future looking for love it is probably a good idea to do your homework. Meet a Mining Man is a site set up for single miners to look for love. Browsing through their profiles I was surprised at just how many guys are willing to put themselves on the site and pay the $45 a month for the privilege.

Dozens of lonely guys, of all ages, based across the country have flocked to the site in the hope that a girl who can put up with living in a mining town or a fly in fly out roster will see them there. I’ll admit that I can’t see the man of my dreams waiting on those pages, certainly not any that I’m willing to pay $45 for, but it seems that like the Beer Goggle Ball organizers, people are certainly giving the more unique single scenes a chance to be, well, seen.

I don’t know what will be next a health retreat for single Dog Lovers or golf day for single people who only eat purple foods but I guess the point is that love is lurking everywhere and according to Kylie Harries, it’s just a matter of giving singles somewhere to find each other. So with that in mind, and the help of my new fairy godmothers Kylie and Sarah Raymond from Macair I’m off to the ball to find a handsome prince. Now all I need is to find a Cinderella-worthy frock and I’m ready to go!

Working (out) for it

Now this picking up at the gym business has me stumped. I don’t know about you but the minute my heart rate starts to go up my face turns bright red, I sweat and all round just look disgusting. Let’s face it, generally the only people who look fabulous working out are people in movies. So how you are suppose to attract the right kind of male attention is beyond me but if the Chick mags tell me it’s a go-er , I’m going to give it a crack.

But which gym? Townsville has so many gyms I don’t’ know where to start so on the recommendation of my Sister I pick Genesis Thuringowa. Following her advice I sign up for their new Body for Life program which means a trainer is going to try as hard as they can to minimise my badonk-a-donk butt (best of luck to them really) over the next 12 weeks. I figure 12 weeks give me plenty of time to check out the talent and I don’t look like I joined the gym with the sole purpose of working on my stalking skills.

After meeting with my trainer and getting passed the embarrassing weigh in (I’m so not telling how much I weigh but luckily it was less than a baby whale) and the wonderful “before “ shot (which is not getting put in the paper so don’t ask) I am ready to hit the gym. I don’t know what tipped me off first that this was not going to be the day to perve on hot men, the evil glint in my trainers eye or the way she moved in like a wolf circling a cute little (unfit) bunny! Whatever it was it was clear that exercise and scanning for guys is not a combination I’m going to be able to master.

Turns out my trainer not only managed to make me red faced but makes me omit strange breathing and grunting sounds while exercising. When I say makes me I don’t mean out of sheer strenuousness am I making them but that she is telling me she wants to “hear my breath”. Now I’m not a loud breather so in order to comply I am making these odd noises that are mostly me spitting across the room. Between that and the odd faces I can see myself pulling it’s obvious that no man will look twice at me in this state, except perhaps to check if I require medical assistance. Besides I don’t’ think I have enough air in my lungs to actually say the words “Hi, I’m Candice… are you single?”.


But at the end, even though I probably scared people away, my trainer smiles and tells me I’ll do great at the group fitness training tomorrow which makes me feel a bit better. Although I think she was referring to my workout, maybe there will be some hotties in the group and surely this way I won’t have my trainer with me so I might get to look a little ridiculous without the noises and be able to ask them about what they think of meeting girls at the gym.

But you see this is my downfall – I have no idea that group training for Body for Life is not a light aerobics class instead I am subjected to hard-core, sweat producing, stomach churning spin class suited only to the super fit not the cake eating, cocktail drinking, likes to have a Nana nap at 3pm on a Sunday, kind of girl I am. For those of you who have never done a spin class will have no idea what I’m talking about and probably think I’m a total sook right now but trust me when I tell you that spinning is not for the feint hearted.

So I guess this is where the women’s mag’s really nailed it - Nothing says “hot” like having to be revived by your trainer and sent of to the hospital. Maybe after a few weeks when my fitness improves and my fainting reflex is a little less sensitive I will have better luck. If not well, there is always the silver lining that my butt will be a little less visible from space.

If you don’t want to do things the hard way like me but like the idea of getting fit and finding love, Donna from Twin Cities Fitness has come up with a fabulous concept called “Flirting with Fitness”. Designed for singles only, you can pop along and meet singles while working on those love handles! Donna has arranged the sessions to give singles a place to meet away from bars and nightclubs, and without the need for a hard drive. Registration closes the 13th October so pop on in and see Donna or give her a call about the next one – don’t be shy now, you were the one’s complaining that there was no place to meet people after all.

Kicking Goals

With the Cowboys struggling on the field, I decided that perhaps somebody should be scoring at their match and chose to start my road test at a Cowboys home game. Maybe consoling an avid fan is the key to finding love so I enlist my married Bestie to act as wing women . Before you say it I realise that for my first assignment I have picked a wing women who is married but Tracey (my Bestie) has been my wing women since I turned 18 and our tried and tested technique was usually a winner(she is married after all), that combined with the fact that she has seen me do far stupider things than this she is guaranteed not to laugh (to my face anyway). So with Tracey by my side I grab a beverage or three for courage and start searching for eligible bachelors.

But what is going to drag the eyes of these mad fans away from the field and onto me. After discussing my quest with male members from the office earlier this week, through their rude laughter they advised me that my best bet to gain attention was to bare flesh. However, I don’t think standing shivering with my cellulite on display will provoke the right kind of reaction. So I have worn my most footy appropriate outfit with perhaps a hint of cleavage just in case the boys are right. But is it enough – scoping the talent I can see that all eyes are directly planting on the game. At this stage I’m not taking it personally but I think standing around looking cute just isn’t going to cut it.

From my perch in the stand I try to locate a spot where the eligible bachelor seem to be hanging out but I’m quickly running out of time and the 3 drinks I had seem to be making things worse – Hello Beer goggles!!!. Perhaps the key to this is not picking the biggest game of the season to flex my flirting muscles. So with a touch of disappointment (I’m perhaps doing worse than the Cowboys at this point) I figure it’s time to give up on the game and head over to the Leagues club next door to see if I have better luck there.

With the football not yet over Tracey and I grab a table with a choice view of the entrance to ensure we spot the hotties before they disappear into the crowd. I have to admit that this is defiantly a better spot than the game and I actually manage to chat to a couple of guys. Although, one thinks that I am pulling his leg when I tell him about the road test situation and even producing a business card doesn’t seem to sway him, lucky for me he thinks I am creating this strange scenario to throw him off rather than thinking I’m a desperate freak.

Across the bar Tracey is having better luck and quickly signals to me to come over, most likely by yelling out “Oi Candice, ya tart”. As much as I hate to admit it she has certainly chosen better for me than I did for myself and within 10 minutes I proudly walk out of the bar humming Queen’s “We are the Champions”, with my number securely in the phone of one very cute boy. Two hours later I have a date for Saturday night and Tracey and I celebrate like Paris and Nicole until very early the next morning.

So what’s my verdict……. If you can get their attention at the Footy game then you might be ok, other than that wait till they hit the bar and try a quick chat up in the queue. A Wing women is a must – if only to help you celebrate and drag your drunken butt home afterwards.

Box Office Success?

When I was at school, the movies were the prime place to meet boys. With a gaggle of giggling girls by my side we would spend hours talking to boys and following them to Macca’s before our parent’s picked us up. To see if the movies will work ten years on I decide to go to two different sessions over the weekend.

As I walk in the door it’s easy to see that Movies + Saturday night = lots of couples. Great - I have arrived on Date Night. The cinema is crowded and there is absolutely no chance that I can strike up a conversation with a guy without pushing into the line and risking some chick spiking me with her heel. Beside’s I am far to concerned with the number of girls actually wearing heels and am grateful I didn’t’ wear my ugg boots (don’t laugh at me you all know you have thought about it).

I decide to see a film that is slightly more male orientated but it doesn’t help. The pickings are slim and after a painful two hours, watching a truly ordinary film I leave dejected. Maybe Sunday afternoon will be better.

Wrong! Sunday is Girls Day Out. Miling around the cinema’s are groups of women of all ages and the only male I can spot is the guy serving me popcorn and choc tops and I’m not sure if he is old enough to attend high school let alone date! I have bought some friends with me to help with the boy spotting but without any talent near by we ditch the hunt and head into a chick flick where a girl just like us (if we looked like a Hollywood starlet) is being pursued by Mr Darcy-esque bloke. Really makes it hard to head back out and hit on guys after watching such an overblown version romance for two hours doesn’t it?

Well after 4 hours watching movies and a fair amount of cash (when did movies get so expensive?) I have to say this one is for the guys. Boys if your looking for a lady in this city Sunday afternoon get yourself down to the flicks and see the girliest movie you can find. Your mates will pay you out till Christmas but with a bit of luck the girls will find you intriguing…… just wear something blokey so they know they are your type if you know what I mean. Girls, well, sorry but the only thing I have learnt on this one is don’t wear your ugg boots to the movies on a Saturday night, the dress code is slightly different these days – why didn’t I get that memo?

Walking the Dog

Last night my poor little puppy Chanel cried herself to sleep. Turns out she is absolutely no use when picking up men.

You see, optimistic and wearing a brand new sporty dog walking outfit, I met the lovely Nat from Mix 106.3 FM at The Strand this week to see if walking our
dogs was a way to meet men. Newly single, Nat jumped at the chance to accompany me on my road test, and fired me several emails over the last week so we could coordinate outfits and dogs.

I know you're sitting there thinking perhaps we were going over board co-ordinating dogs, but picking up blokes is a bit of a science, and careful planning of our experiment was required. Do we go for larger dogs, or will my cute little King Charles Cavalier spaniel cut it? We decide to cover our bases and bring both.
With Nat's greyhound out of action, she arranges for a back-up dog, another
greyhound by the name of Monty.

With Monty and Chanel leashed up and our photo shoot over, we headed off our walk. Little did I know Nat is quite the runner, and her walking speed is a little faster than little Chanel or I are used to. While we struggle to keep up, Nat is busy scanning for boys. Before long a very cute boy jogs past and I manage to smile in his direction, and am rewarded with a smile in return, but it isn't enough to make him stop his run and chat with us.

It quickly becomes clear that we have turned up a little too early for the boys out for a stroll, and only the serious runners are around. I briefly contemplate
allowing Chanel to drift into the path of one of these runners but Nat, a serious runner herself, quickly talks me out of it, with perhaps a hint of fear that I am about to get her beat up. So that's when it becomes clear that I need to bring out the big guns.

I spot an unsuspecting bloke sitting staring moodily out to sea (or at least I think he was). I'm a little on the blind side without my glasses, so he could have been picking his nose for all I know. Regardless, I decide it's time to try my best damsel in distress routine. Seeing a pole in my path, I allow Chanel to drift one side of it and let go of the lead. Then with acting skills honed from years of watching The Young and the Restless I try to catch my runaway dog with all the elegance of a tradie doing ballet. BUT THE GUY JUST SITS THERE! He doesn't even move to help me, and I am rewarded only by Nat, who I am sure is totally nominating me for a Logie.

I don't know what horrifies me more _ that I just made myself look incredibly lame, or that chivalry is dead. I hope Mr Nose Picker (that is what I have decided to call him) is reading this and realises the error of his ways and helps out the next girl who tries to fall in his path. If he isn't reading this, then I will sleep well tonight knowing that I got to call him Mr Nose Picker (even though, okay, he probably wasn't).

When we get back to our starting point, Nat and I quickly debrief and decide that perhaps we have to accept that we have failed on our first attempt at this experiment and decide that the blame should be placed solely on Chanel. I know that is unfair.
I'm sad about it too. I had such high hopes that my little Chanel would grow up to be a major man magnet. I just don't know what happened. She had such potential, so much going for her _ maybe I have simply failed as a mother.


But, maybe not all is lost. She may still have a future in being a pick- up aide.
For a reasonable fee (how does $500 an hour sound???), she could be rented out to single blokes. Because every single girl we passed down The Strand gazed adoringly at her. Seriously, the dog is a total chick magnet! Not really what I was hoping for, but for $500 an hour, I could learn to live with it.

So despite all our best efforts, Nat and I didn't find Mr Right waiting for us along The Strand. But like all experiments, I guess we will have to keep trying. Maybe with a little reworking of the variables (like a dog that is a little more bloke- friendly), we might have more success next time. Also, there is the fact that Chanel and Monty hit it off, so maybe if I hook my dog up, it's not a total failure .

Get Hooked

Being Single is hard, but being single in Townsville is even harder. Texters from across the city have been complaining to our Editor for months about this very fact. With the city getter larger by the day you have to wonder why so many people are struggling to find Mr or Mrs Right.

According to the 2006 census there was around 30,000 people in Townsville aged between 18-30. Approximately 8,000 of those people were married, 6,500 were in a de-facto relationship and 5,000 students (sorry students but high school has it’s own set of dating rules). So based on these figures that leaves over 10,000 singleton’s roaming the city streets, remembering that Townsville has grown significantly in the last 2 years.

The old rules for dating no longer apply. Going out to Flinders Street on a Saturday night you are bound to run into at least one ex, your cousin, 3 people who are already off the market and several with the sole mission to spend one night with you and then leave you with a fake number and dirty sheets, all of whom are lowering the true love potential in the dating pool. The previously acceptable nightclub introduction has quickly become a thing of past. Although a prime place to see potential mates puffed up like peacocks, sporting new outfits and generally looking their best it is not always conducive to ensuring that the best looking guy or girl is the one for you. Sadly the nightclub has fallen into the hook-up category and soulmate potential needs to be found else where.

Online dating has taken off in the larger cities with singles flocking to dating websites claiming to have matched hundreds of couples. Facebook and My Space have widened the internet dating arena by making it easier to peek, almost stalker-like, into the lives of those who grab your attention. But what about those who would rather sit down and get to know someone instead of chatting online with a person who may or may not be a 50 year old perve who is fantasising about wearing your skin like a new Gucci coat?

Where do all these dateless folks go to meet potential partners? Women’s magazines have been feeding the minds of impressionable young ladies for years claiming they know the secret spots to meet your soulmate. But how many of those journalist actually based their tips on Townsville? How many have ever been here at all for that matter? In saying that it is possible that beneath their big city ideas these women’s magazines do have a point and in some of the most ordinary places you can find The One or at least a date for next Friday.

So, I’m sure your wondering what right I have to be complaining about dating in this city. Well here it is, my credentials so to speak. My name is Candice and yes, I am single. I actually hate admitting that I’m single, people tend to say “So your single” like they just found out I have some weird disease and I’m totally desperate and will chase a man down the street, like a cave woman, for a date. But for me being single, for the most part, is a choice I have made. You see some time ago I got dumped – the kind of dumping where you had no idea it was coming and afterwards realise that all the signs were there and you were just too in love (or too stupid) to notice. After some crying, a year of it to be precise, I decided to forget love and spent the next 3 years focusing on my family and like singleton’s everywhere, my career.

Now I finally feel ready to face the dating world again I have discovered that Townsville isn’t exactly the mecca for young eligible blokes it once was and finding a date is much harder than it used to be. Knowing that I’m not alone in my quest for love has spurred me onto giving Cupid his marching orders and taking up his role.

So to help out my fellow lovelorn Townsvillien’s I will take a leaf out of the women’s magazine’s, well, magazine, and trawl the spots toted by them as the top places to meet people and see if they actually can work in our City. If all else fails I can always go on Farmer wants a Wife.