Www richdatingagency com lonly dating site
With such a terrible track record, I started to realise that, if I couldn't meet someone when I was in my prime, how on earth was I going to meet someone now I'm 50?
My friend Kerry, tired of my moaning, had told me about an upmarket dating agency that takes on only high-achieving rich people.
I assume when she mentions DNA she’s referring to genetic disorders, but I’m wrong: “They want to know what their kids are going to look like – they want to know what gene pool they’re going to be in. People put invest in it so they can meet someone like them. The birth of mobile phones, social media, tweeting texting and chatting online have changed human nature. And that culture has spread into the dating world – people want what they want.” The agency is designed for cash-rich, time-poor people who don’t have countless free evenings to spend scouring bars, or online dating sites, for a potential partner – they want to cut to the chase.
The set-up is distinctly old-fashioned, as Mairead explains: “We introduce you to a few people, and if you want to meet up, and they want to meet you, then we give the guy your number.
Miraculously, given that I was the editor of a woman's fashion magazine, before meeting my husband in my early 40s (then a BBC journalist, he came to interview me; as soon as we got married, he gave up his job and started having sex with other women), I had only ever had three boyfriends, two of whom hadn't even liked me that much.
Liz Jones braves the snow in Times Square, New York, as she searches for Mr Right I think the reason I never met men was that I was either working, or sat at home, wishing they'd come to me, which, of course, they didn't.
But then I reached the first anniversary of my divorce and, much to my surprise, having sworn off men for life, I started to wonder, with the prospect of a great big yawning new year stretching ahead of me, whether there might be someone out there for me and, if so, how on earth am I going to find him?
Plus, things seem to move so fast that every potential relationship is over before I’ve blinked.
And, as I’m always complaining, everything has become so cloaked in ambiguity, that there are 67 different levels of ‘not being in a relationship’ you have to go through before you’re allowed to call someone your significant other.
So, when I was asked if I wanted to try out Berkley International, a personal dating service for the slightly more discerning patron, it seemed like a nice change of pace.
Essentially, if Tinder is Clapham High Street; Berkeley International is Cannes.
And – here’s the crunch – it costs between £10,000 and £50,000 to join.