There’s an old hobo song called Big Rock Candy Mountain. It’s about a tramp’s idea of Heaven and its lyrics go – ‘In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, you never change your socks, And little streams of alcohol, come a-tricklin’ down the rocks, The hobos there are friendly, And their fires all burn bright, There’s a lake of whisky... and soda too, You can paddle all around ‘em in a big canoe...’ Well, now I know how that hobo must have felt, because last week, going to see the Take That musical Never Forget at Oxford’s New Theatre, it was me, maybe one or two other men and...1,400 women (the queues for the toilets stretched as far back as Botley Road).

As meeting your soulmate is frankly a numbers game, this convergence of the fates would surely have been taken as a nod-from-God for the single guy.

Indeed, just queuing outside, a woman asked: “Can you dance?”

“Can I lie?” I replied. She nodded.

“Then yes, beautifully”, I said.

“Well,” she smiled, “if you want to join us...”

Wandering home that night, I realised none of my single male friends, desperate as they are, would have booked tickets for this show. They would argue no man worth his salt would look any kind of ‘catch’, dancing in the aisles, surrounded by women singing their hearts out to songs about love and passion and commitment.

Which is why, this coming Saturday, in the bars around Oxford, they’ll be doing what they’ve always done – loitering, staring, and then failing totally to act on the strength of their convictions.

And that, of course, explains their ‘bachelor’ status (in truth, ‘spinster’ would be a more appropriate term for these thirtysomethings).

I’ve insisted, but they won’t listen, that the best way to meet the opposite sex – and to woo them – is to get a job at a local bookshop (Waterstones, Borders, Blackwells and, if you’re really pushed, WH Smith).

I speak from experience; I once worked at a certain high street book seller and that ‘librarian’ look (nerdy specs, hint of stubble, slacker wardrobe, disturbing pallor) is a real hook.

Think about it: a customer comes in and asks: “Do you have Dan Brown’s latest?”.

You reply: “We certainly do. It’s excellent,” (whether you’ve read it or not).

She says: “Really? That’s great. I really enjoyed The Da Vinci Code.”

To which you reply: “Me too, although, I prefer John Grisham. He’s more... visceral” (this doesn’t mean anything but sounds impressively ‘literary’).

And that’s it – you’ve broken the ice. The rest, as they say, is up to you. (Just ditch the M&S underwear).

But one word of warning: the number of shops in which you can do this is limited. Having once worked in a carpet warehouse, I can categorically state that shag pile and Axminster do not improve your chances...