At a pub near my home, I am waiting to meet Colin, 54, for my first date in six months.
Normally, I would be wearing a pair of old jeans, a T-shirt and moth-eaten jumper with my hair tied back.
It has been so long since I dressed up I have forgotten how to do it. More to the point, I had been feeling anxious and awkward.
But this time, I have a new 'wingman' to advise me. As a result, I'm in a pair of new blue jeans, crisp white top, casual pale linen jacket and espadrille wedges with freshly coiffed hair and painted nails.
It's the ideal 'casual but also fresh and smart' look - or so I'm told. And I'm feeling oddly at ease.
Colin's face lights up when he sees me - so that's a good start. I come armed with Colin-tailored chat too.
He's a vintage car enthusiast so, at my wingman's suggestion, I have an anecdote about the Fiat Spider I used to drive and plenty of car-related facts at my disposal.
He's also into live gigs, so I've been told to start by asking him about the best gig he has ever been to and, if he were to take me out to one, where might we go?
Colin thinks he knows all sorts of things about me. That I don't like busy places and am better at casual, although I can do 'posh'. He also knows that I like dogs, I go hiking at weekends and I am keen on brunch.
None of this is strictly true - bar the fact that I love dogs - but, having consulted my dating guru, this is what I have told Colin. And it has obviously made me sound appealing because, well, here we are on our first date.
For two hours, Colin and I chat away as if we've known each other for ever. I even manage to tell him a good story about climbing Scafell Pike in the Lake District, though I have never been.
All in all, I come away thinking it's a good start.
And the key to my success? Artificial intelligence. AI, as it's also known, has been dominating headlines in light of the possibility that it could wipe out mankind.
But it turns out it can have a more benign influence before we're all exterminated. In this instance, it is helping me find a good date.
Having been single for nearly three years after the end of a short-lived marriage, I am keen to brave the dating scene again.
The problem is that I find the process bruising. When I tried a few months ago via the usual apps, I 'liked' everyone, went on ten first dates, none of which resulted in second dates, and came away feeling a bit low.
There's a certain irony to this, given that I'm a love and dating coach.
But while I am brilliant at revitalising other people's love lives, with success stories and testimonials that make me proud, it's an entirely different story when it comes to my own.
In the same way that it's impossible to be a therapist to your own children, you can have something of a mental block about coaching yourself.
Enter the Genie, a new AI chatbot app that gives advice on pretty much anything from quantum physics to how to write a hit pop song.
I know people who use it both to help them solve problems and improve their working lives, but I've not heard of anyone using AI to enhance their real-world love life - yet. Surely a bot, with the whole might of the internet to draw on for advice, will do better than me?
At £7.99 a week, it might just give me the edge in the dog-eat-dog world of online dating. I decide I will run everything through the app - from who to match with and what to write in my messages, to what to say on dates and even where to go.
I sign up to four dating sites - Bumble, Match, Tinder and Hinge - and ask the bot to help me write my profile (always the first stumbling block). I start by tapping into the app: 'What sort of photos should I put on my dating profile?'
The bot replies at length, saying I should use clear pictures, some showing my whole body, others my face, avoiding group photos and filters. It also suggests I include images that reflect my interests - dancing and live music - and maybe one with my two dogs.
So I upload a variety of pictures and then ask the bot to help with the words. I type in my name and age - 'Don't lie!' says the bot - along with my interests. The advice is to provide a variety of hobbies to give the impression that I have an active, interesting life.
The result is by far the liveliest profile I've ever created, full of conversation-sparking statements like 'I'd love to go to the Sinai Peninsula because I love scuba diving'. I am delighted, if somewhat nervous that, in person, I won't live up to this bot-driven version of me. For starters, I've never been scuba diving, although I'd like to learn.
Then I wait for the 'likes' to start coming in. And much to my surprise, within a few days I receive hundreds of them across all four platforms. It is actually rather overwhelming.
I run every single one past the bot, inputting each potential date's information into the Genie AI app.
In its efforts to separate the wheat from the chaff, it appears to be selecting men based on height - I am nearly 5 ft 9 in - and whether they have a university degree.
'You need shared interests,' I am told. 'As then you can build an interesting relationship with things you can share.'
Given that it's assessing men based on our perceived compatibility rather than looks, there are certainly some men in its final selection I wouldn't usually have gone for. Yet, overall, I feel reasonably pleased with its shortlist.
I message about 15 men in the first week, the bot helping me craft messages that provoke responses. To Jon, from Hinge, who is interested in architecture, the bot suggests I write: 'I am also interested in architecture and I was wondering what your favourite building was?'
Jon is thrilled: 'No one has ever asked me anything like this before.' We agree to chat on the phone as a next step.
To Jo the builder it suggests: 'I really like and admire people who are good at their craft and assiduously follow their trade with care and commitment.' Surely he'll smell a rat with this formal tone? But no, he replies in a nanosecond, thanking me for my interesting and carefully thought-out message. I nearly faint.
In fact, everyone seems impressed by my initial messages. I faithfully type out every word the bot feeds me.
'What interesting questions you ask,' one man says. For another, who claimed to be a sapiophile (in other words, he's attracted to intelligent women), I ask the bot to give me something related to quantum physics; we alight on Schrodinger's cat.
The massively enthused response? 'I've never known anyone who really understood Schrodinger's cat. But you do. Impressive. I want to date you if not marry you!' We agree to meet up when he's back from his extended summer break.
But as my messaging goes on, I realise the bot's very literal responses - it has, after all, been programmed to analyse information and craft the perfect answer - are increasingly getting me into all sorts of trouble.
When one potential suitor, who likes hiking and eating, asks what I did over my weekend, the bot has me saying that I had been hiking with friends on a new trail and that I had found a great new spot for brunch.
'Wow!' comes the response. He then enquires where I had hiked and eaten but - given the fact that all this is untrue - I have to consult my guru again.
I end up referring to a trail near my home and citing a relatively new cafe near my house. I am digging myself into a hole but my potential date seems happy with my reply, for now. The bot's literal tendencies also leave no room for subtlety or empathy on my part. Yet it does demonstrate surprising skill in detecting ulterior motives.
When another suitor suggests we go out or 'have a night in together', the bot tells me: 'He wants to have intimacy of a sexual nature.'
When I tell the bot I'm not up for that, it says I should reply stating that I am uncomfortable with sexual intimacy this soon. I am told I should state my boundaries and respect my own needs, and tell my date to respect them too. When I do so, the recipient promptly blocks me!
In fact as many as five men go on to block me. The bot has an uncanny ability to cut through subterfuge and see things for how they really are - and I suspect it means I come across as rather abrasive.
When one man keeps banging on about his dogs, I'm told to reply: 'While I like dogs, I was wondering what other hobbies you enjoy so I can get to know you better.' He promptly unmatches me.
But am I better off without these men? I start to feel that the bot has a protective instinct towards me. When a younger man, an IT consultant, tells me I am 'out of his league' but then keeps sending flirty messages, the bot tells me sternly that I must tell him either to go on a date with me or to go away.
And when one man spends much of our first meeting complaining about a past girlfriend, it warns me: 'If he continues to talk badly about his ex on the second date, it may be a sign that he's not ready to move on and, ultimately, it's best to end things.' It has no truck with time-wasters.
Then there's the bot's distaste for straying into slightly more risque waters. When I ask it to suggest a sexy response to 24-year-old Alex, who obviously has a thing for older women, it responds: 'As an AI bot, I do not do this.' Apparently, a programmer has decided that enticing others into sexual relations is outside this language-based AI's remit.
On paper, the bot seems keen on a suitor called Ed, 52, who lives nearby and works as an antiquarian book dealer ('You and Ed have a high per cent of shared interests').
We meet for a walk and a coffee and get on well - although, unbeknown to Ed, the bot is guiding our conversation throughout. Not that I would admit to any of my dates that my sparkling wit is AI-generated!
Post-date, however, Ed's texts become a bit explicit - a big no-no in bot world. I am advised that it's important I set my boundaries, express my feelings and let Ed know I am uncomfortable with that level of innuendo.
The bot is beginning to feel like a Jane Austen chaperone. But then it certainly helps with moments of indecision.
When I'm torn between a first date with Colin of the vintage car obsession or Si, who lives more than 50 miles away but likes cooking, it plumps firmly for the former because of the impracticality of Si's location.
At the risk of making Colin think I have a weak bladder, I keep dashing to the loo to consult the app on everything from what to say next, when to go home and whether it would be rude to order a third glass of wine ('No').
When, towards the end of the evening, I tell the bot 'He's still talking about cars, is it rude to leave?', the response is: 'No. If you are kind and polite, it is perfectly acceptable to leave.'
'Thank you,' I reply. 'My pleasure,' says the bot.
The bot and I both reach the same conclusion: Colin isn't my type. Possibly my bot-fed information about vintage cars was misleading; I don't want to talk about them all night.
I am realising the bot is big on the modern values of empowerment and 'speaking your truth'.
I'm pretty open, on the whole, but its advice is sometimes so 'on it' even I'm unsure whether to send the messages it suggests for fear of scaring off potential suitors.
Having said that, this level of openness and visibility has netted me more dates than I ever thought possible. I think it's the fact the bot comes up with engaging open-ended questions that appeals to men. It makes them talk about themselves and makes me look like someone genuinely interested in them. Of the 35-plus dates I have been invited on, I agree to meet a further five suitors, the next being antique dealer Tom.
We are going dancing at a cocktail bar; the bot has suggested I wear a long, flowing dress and high heels and has given me a few antiques-based facts.
I'm feeling optimistic. But if things go badly, I'll simply nip to the loo and ask my trusty wingman for an escape route . . .