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Others ‘ghosted’ me — not returning messages after we’d exchanged a few pleasantaries.After a while it didn’t even feel offensive or rude — it’s just the normal way to treat people on Tinder. Jonathan described himself as a divorced ex-policeman in his 50s who now worked in security.In fact, she’d be the first to warn any married woman secretly thinking the grass might be greener on the other side to stay firmly where she is.Claire says: ‘I’d hoped to meet some decent men in their 50s, someone with whom I could enjoy a conversation or a meal out.‘But it was horrendous and I’ve found that it’s zapped my confidence and made me feel a lot more anxious about the future.‘I’ve been shocked by the number of men who think it’s acceptable to send you pictures of their private parts.‘One man started sending me lewd messages, asking me what I’d like sexually.Over my time on Tinder, I found that the more I swiped, the more fussy I became. By a process of elimination, I realised my ideal man was a Paul Hollywood lookalike in a management position or running his own business.

He turned out to be a perfectly nice chap who’d had a similar experience to me on Tinder. Marital therapist Andrew Marshall, author of It’s Not A Midlife Crisis, It’s An Opportunity, says he has been seeing more and more women like Claire, bored with their marriages and tempted by one ‘last hurrah’ in the seemingly exciting world of internet dating.

When I refused to interact with him, he sent more messages until I had to report him to the app and delete my profile.‘What I find particularly depressing is that these men think that’s what women today have been reduced to — that it’s a normal way to speak to a woman in 2017.‘If this is the way forward in dating, the world is going to be left full of single, lonely hearts.’Finally I felt ready to dip my toe back into dating.

Since my divorce nine years ago, my life has revolved around my 14-year-old daughter, Sophie, and my business.

Then there are the tattooed drinkers and smokers brigade, all pictured ‘down the pub’, and finally the sportsmen perched on high-spec bikes, spattered in mud on assault courses, or crossing marathon finishing lines.

A man named Paul claimed to be an injured body builder, yet he seemed baffled when I decided to call his bluff by asking about the technical details of his diet plan. Spending a lonely old age in front of the TV began to seem rather inviting.

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