One date down, forty-nine to go.

With some trepidation I went on the first of my fifty nights out with the first of fifty women. The only condition I have imposed on the task is that I can't go out with women who I have been romantically involved with before (so that discounts nearly two women, making my task much more difficult).

I thought it might be difficult to find people to go out with, but it seems that women quite like the idea and friends of friends have been surprisingly keen to go out with a stranger who is making no attempt to deny the fact that he is seeing other women. Forty-nine other women.

I suppose the whole thing looks like being a bit of a laugh and it is only one evening out of your life (for the women at least).

I sway between thinking that I am embarking on a journey to Heaven or a trip to Hell. If it wasn't so many dates, like maybe seven at most, then it would probably be fun (and if I met anyone I really liked I would be able to see them again next week, rather than at the end of June). I would recommend that as a good idea for anyone who is single and wants to meet people.

But around the thirty mark I am probably going to start going insane. Inevitably it's going to involve a lot of drinking and that is going to take its toll, but I think that fifty first dates with no second dates (which let's face it is where the fun really starts to happen) is going to be psychologically destructive too.

Well, perhaps.

But tonight's date was charming and attractive and I had a really pleasant evening. We drank cocktails and had a laugh and enjoyed the slight ridiculousness of the situation. At the end of the evening she wished me luck with the next 49 dates.

It was quite refreshing.

In the short term.

I am sure the nightmare will be kicking in around the middle of May.

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