In 1984 Bonnie Tyler asked the question ‘where have all the good men gone?’

Almost 30 years later I ask myself the same question?

Seriously though, where the hell are they?!!

I have been single for three and a half years, 2 of those years where by choice. I’m 22, reasonably attractive and not looking to trap some poor misfortunate fella into the marriage and kids brigade.

All I want is a simple relationship, nothing fancy, a nice meal in a restaurant once in a while, trips to the cinema, a few drinks on a Friday or Saturday night, maybe the odd walk in Phoenix Park on a Sunday morning if I’m lucky.

I’ve been on several dates in the last year, all top notch nice guys. They were polite, funny, handsome, complimentary and, a major plus, great communicators. 90% of them bemoaned the fact that they too struggled (for want of a better word) to find Ms Right or even Ms Ahhsureyou’lldoforthetimebeing. I’ve had first dates and in some cases second dates. I managed a third and subsequently final forth date with one particular gent. It seemed everything went well, even great until that first hint of commitment came into play.

I thought to myself, surely its me. Did I have something between my teeth? Or was that joke a little to un-pc?

But I don’t seem to be the only one. The majority of my social group, male and female are single too. One associate of mine has the beauty of a model, an intellect to rival Fry and a sharp, dry wit that will knock you sideways and leave you with tears rolling down your cheeks. She’s never had a boyfriend. We tell her she’s beautiful and men are scared to be rejected by her. She tells us of her loneliness and ponders her inadequacies.

Are all the single men of Ireland afraid of commitment or are we looking in the wrong places?

So what’s a girl to do? Go down the old fashioned route of a shift, bag of chips and a phone number after a night out? Our capitals finest establishment, Copper Face Jacks, has seemed to lost its core group of the gards, farmers, teachers and nurses (the safe bets) and been replaced by a sex hungry, disposable breed of new men and women. In the last year I’ve yet to meet a guy in a nightclub who uses the number I give him, or am even given the time of day once he discovers he won’t be finding out the colour of my bedroom walls.

What about Match.com and its other colleagues? I don’t believe you should have to pay for love and I certainly don’t think I could could cope with people I know discovering my profile. My desperation for love and affection splayed across the web.

So all in all where do we go in this new Ireland, where even the pubs have failed us, to find a fella??

All I want is boy. He doesn’t have to be ripped from 6am gym sessions. He doesn’t have to be a high flyer employed at the IFSC. He doesn’t have to decked out in Hollister or Paul Galvin’s skinny jeans. He doesn’t need to look like Ryan Gosling.

He doesn’t even need an all Ireland medal draped around his neck.

He just has to be nice.

That’s all any of us want.

‘Lonely Girl’