In a new weekly feature, Her.ie goes behind enemy lines to see what it's really like to be single in Ireland. From speed dating to making speedy escapes, our no-holds-barred blog will follow one girl's attempts to venture into the dating jungle, play the field and share any wisdom that she finds along the way!

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Week Eight: Missed Connections Ladies, this has been a good week. I may not have found a potential Mr Right but I did achieve what may be a personal best in the scoring stakes on Saturday night. Just as well, after last week's disappointment! A friend had come down from Donegal for a visit and having travelled such a distance, I felt it was only right to reward her with a copious amount of cocktails in one of Dublin's finest establishments. Having found a seat at the bar that gave us a bird's eye view of that night's talent, we started with a few very pretty looking concoctions while we caught up the gossip. My mate was halfway through spilling the beans on her recent co-habiting with her boyfriend when I set eyes on one of the most beautiful men that I'd seen in a while. Seriously, he had a touch of the James Franco about him. And he ordered a Guinness in a trendy cocktail bar, which means there a 50% he's a bad ass (and 50% chance he's a pretentious hipster but I decided to ignore that). I watched as he made his way through the bar and nearly collapsed when he came to a standstill right behind where we were sitting (admittedly, not my coolest moment). Now this was very unfortunate for my friend as while she spent the next hour telling me about the latest developments in her life, I spent it gazing covertly over her shoulder and now recall less of what she was saying that I do of my secondary school algebra. Maybe she sensed that I needed to refocus because the next thing I knew, she was suggesting we try one of the strongest cocktails on the menu. So strong in fact, that patrons are only allowed two for fear they may cause themselves an injury – to either their body or their dignity! I figured 'sure why not?' and soon McHottie had been pushed to the back of my mind while I busted a few moves to some very cheesy 90s tunes. On returning to the bar, we discovered that the boy and his friend had now settled in seats next to ours and my (pretty drunk) friend started to put the craic on them (her skills as a wing woman are one of my favourite things about her). One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was engaged in a flirtatious battle of wits with McHottie, which led to a bit of a dance and a cheeky kiss. At this point, I was happier than George Clooney's betrothed but after a while, I noticed my friend was now sitting at the bar on her own. For a second, my gaze flicked back to the sexy beast before me but I knew in my heart that you have put your hoes before the bros and told McHottie that I had to go. After all, she'd spent four hours on a sweaty bus just for me - that's true love. I had planned to get his number but then he started to try and convince me to stay with him and my drunken self decided I had to cut and run before I went weak at the knees and changed my mind. So that was the end of that. Unless fate intervenes, I will not be seeing him again but I'm pretty happy to chalk it down to an impressive notch on the old belt and have moved on to chatting to a cute Spanish guy on Tinder (more next week on him!). I've told you before about my flatmates, who have recently dubbed themselves 'The Lonely Hearts Club' following a run of bad luck with men. Things appeared to be looking up recently, when one of them met a lovely friend of a friend on a night out. They'd gotten on well, exchanged numbers, he had text and as she is in the middle of studying for exams, they had agreed to meet up for a stroll in the sun one evening as their first date. Excitement was rife in our little terraced abode as we sent her on her way but she returned with a face longer than Shergar. Her date had arrived outside looking, in her words, "pale, scruffy, his clothes looked dirty and he was a bit smelly" and with a large rucksack on his back. They embarked on their walk and in between debates on religion (who thinks that's a good first date topic!?), he revealed he had spent the hours before he met her in the park drinking cans and smoking joints with his mates. He then added that said rucksack was full of cans and asked her if she would like one, adding that they were "the cheapest thing in the off license". Guess what? They're not going on a second date. We want to hear your bad date stories! Email us at hello@her.ie or catch us on Twitter @Herdotie with the #shiftyfirstdates hashtag.