How to find a husband?

I would like to think that this piece will be useful to those unmarried women out there in cyberland who are tentatively wondering whether it is worth getting a husband at all.

This is certainly a debatable point as personal freedom is so seductive but do bear in mind you will need someone to take the trash out, undo those pesky jar lids and cut the lawn in later life, (always supposing you choose wisely and find one that will such jobs).

And while this hub is not aimed specifically at the older woman, who is either between husbands or is perhaps belatedly contemplating taking one in for the first time, I am writing from my own somewhat mature perspective and this does require the use of glasses these days.

Spectacles or wine glasses, I find both equally helpful.

It's at this point that I must own up to being somewhat of a soft touch, a bit of a pushover really and sentimentality usually takes precedence over common sense. I take things in, empty nightdress cases in the shape of forlorn-looking elephants, depressed and discarded soft toys, the least healthy looking plants at the garden centre, stray cats ... you get the idea.

The present husband was no different. Although at the time I was not really looking for something as … er … binding ... as marriage I advertised, for male company I suppose, in a moment of red-wine fuelled weakness and he came. He came and he stayed.

I nicknamed him Squaddie on the strength of him having been a soldier in his youth. It was rather like naming a pet but it turned out to be a lucky choice. Eight years later and we still spend most of our time laughing together … usually, and only occasionally ... at, each other.

So, it seems that the bottom line is, only you can decide whether rampant sentimentality will over-ride common sense in your own personal case.

On the other hand you may be more grown-up than me and realise that you can pay the kid next door to cut the grass and empty the bins.

Most people nowadays seem to agree that dating sites/lonely hearts columns are a by-now acceptable way of finding a partner without having to go to balls (do they still exist?) or dodgy dinner parties where your well-meaning (i.e. idiotic), so-called (i.e. soon to be ex-) friends try to pair you up with the latest newly-abandoned male of their acquaintance.

Even so I must admit that it was with great trepidation that I placed my ad. in the lonely hearts column of the local newspaper. (Internet dating just seemed a shade too avant garde, not to mention expensive, to me at the time).

It was my first advert and the minute I had placed it I knew I could never put in another one. It just didn't sit quite right with me somehow. Perhaps I felt myself too long in the tooth department but the red wine had spoken so the advert was now in print. Don’t let my collywobbles deter you however.

I listened to the replies on my Voicemail box with mounting anxiety. Some sounded just too creepy and others sounded as if they were using joke voices. 'Hello, my name is Norman and I’m interested in complementary therapies and sailing my yacht round the Bahamas'.

You will perhaps be surprised to know that I did not choose the ones that seemed both wealthy and exotic. With hindsight that could have been a mistake but again, something made me feel uneasy. I always believe it is best to listen to your intuition.

In the end I arranged to meet up with just three that had lovely voices and a hint of the obligatory gsoh (good sense of humour).

I will skate briefly over the full account of the meeting with my first 'prospect' as I can be very cruel sometimes.

Suffice to say that even though I am not a tall woman, (a very average height in fact though I don't really wish to be size-est) my first date only came up to my bosom, which was hoisted securely at his eye level and was probably fine with him.

To be fair to him he had warned me when we made the date on the phone that he was not tall. I thought he might be exaggerating and that I could deal with it. I couldn't.

Then, despite telling me he was a very good listener, he proceeded to tell me all about himself in great depth, all evening. Such a long evening.

As I felt it would be rude to look at my watch, I kept a discreet eye on his instead and made my excuses as soon as I felt it was acceptable. Somehow my body language must have betrayed my feelings as he knew I didn't want to see him again, ever ... in my life.

Suddenly here was this tall, jovial bloke somewhat reminiscent of an jolly Labrador (in manner, not looks, I hasten to add) and instinctively I liked him. In fact I felt so good about this meeting that I never met my third prospect. I put him off and took a chance on Squaddie.

I guess I was very lucky that he decided to take a chance on me too.

So, all things considered, I suppose I could recommend advertising for a husband, especially as the internet now makes it so much easier to cherry-pick your ideal partner, matching everything from blood group to political affiliations to inside leg measurements.

And you can even specify if you want a man in uniform, which will probably mean they will run out of hunky firemen very quickly. Perhaps you should get your order in immediately?

Now the only thing you have to watch out for is the serial seducer, the play-away fanatic. But then he's going to be an obvious, easy to spot, slime-ball, right?