“Ooooh so you’re doing the internet dating thing are you? On LoveArts?” Mum’s beady necklace bounces in anticipation as she peers longingly at strawberry tarts on the cake trolley whizzing past us for the third time that hour. “So have you met any real contenders then? Do they all really love the arts like you do? Anyone on there that might fancy taking out an older version?” Mum chuckles as I tuck into my second profiterole. So much for the watercress soup diet. “But if they love the arts surely they are gay like those actors you live with?” The last time mum turned up unannounced at my house share, she arrived in the middle of the boys having an argument about shared chest waxing time in the bathroom.  “Jerry and Dave are not a couple mum. Dave actually has a girlfriend.” Mum looks dumbfounded. “Really? But they were in the bathroom together wearing nothing but tiny hand towels, shaving their bodies and crooning at each other.” I wonder whether I should elaborate on the occasionally contrasting behavioural patterns of thespians versus civilians – but decide to leave it. “Do you like the effeminate man then?” mum wonders. “I was always more of a Sean Connery girl myself.” She plays with her birthday card and present – a spa voucher.

“I don’t really have an ideal type mum but someone who actually turns up on time would be a start.” Mum looks concerned. “You mean they keep you waiting?” I tell her about my most recent date who turned up an hour late to dinner as he was apparently stuck in traffic driving his flashy car into central London instead of sensibly taking public transport. “Well, times have certainly changed, that just wouldn’t have happened in my day. And what did he have to say for himself when he finally arrived?” I pay the Mum’s-birthday-tea-at-the-Dorchester bill which somehow seems to have added an extra zero to the sum originally quoted to me on the website. Gulp. “He didn’t say anything because I walked out on him when he finally arrived.” I leave out the bit where I embarrassingly spent a good few minutes venting at the wrong man who bore a distinct resemblance to actual latecomer Sven33’s profile picture on LoveArts. The rather dumbfounded casualty was finally rescued by his perturbed girlfriend from my fuming speech as it slowly dawned on me that I was spouting my frustration at, in fact, a happily taken and punctual sample of the male species. Who had never heard of LoveArts in his life. Classic.

Mum is unaware of my shameful faux pas and looks proud. “Then again we were only 60% compatible so I should have known really” I conclude her version of the story. “Waste of time.” We head down the escalator and into the foyer where a rather dishy pianist croons out some Noel Coward to accompany our exit from the hotel. “Goodness, so they analyse your personality and everything. Rather clever those websites aren’t they. So who is next on your list then?” Mum is clearly living vicariously through me. “Well, I can pick between a bearded, Ibsen-obsessed City investment banker in his thirties…or a thrice-divorced theatre producer in his fifties.” Mum tries to look neutral. “Well darling, the more the merrier!”

Dates: One, which didn’t deserve even a minute of my waiting time

Auditions: Still waiting to hear after final recall