"Have you tried internet dating?” my friends ask, smug in their own, loving relationships. If nothing else, my dating life provides excellent dinner-party fodder.

Of course I have trawled the web for my perfect partner. But that was then, way before the onset of dating cynicism and acceptance that this might be me now forever: middle-aged, single, watching Saturday evening TV and eating takeaway for one.

Anyway, it was on one such night, about a year ago, reeling from yet another messy and failed affair, I stumbled upon a re-run of First Dates, the hugely successful fly-on-the-wall Channel 4 programme. It’s dating voyeurism for a TV audience. As the programme’s introduction explains: “Two strangers meet in a London restaurant, meticulously matched, based on their likes and dislikes, the rest is down to them and Cupid’s arrow.”

I weighed up the pros and cons. Worst case scenario: I’m still single. Best case: a Hollywood happy ever after.

So I applied online, as you do, when half-a-bottle of red wine tells you to. But never, ever did I think they’d choose me.

“It’ll probably never happen,” I told my daughters, trying to soften the thought of the world eavesdropping on their old man in full dating mode. As none of us truly believed this First Dates malarkey would come to fruition it never really got mentioned again.

That’s why, when I did eventually go on my TV date, I never said a word to them, or my mum, sisters and brother. Even my best friend of forty years, Michael, whom I speak to every day, was oblivious. If it goes well and I get a second date, then I’ll say something, I thought. And if it goes the other way…

What was I thinking? There was still enough fuel in the ego tank to assume failure wasn’t an option and so I focused on what I was going to wear for my television debut. Jeans, jacket and white shirt. Good combo. Smart, yet casual. On second thoughts, perhaps the pink shirt…

Surreal, is the only way I can describe walking into the First Dates restaurant. If you’ve ever watched the programme, then you’ll know that when it’s not being used for filming, it’s a trendy, bare-bricked London eatery, just opposite St Pauls. I’ve been there many times before, not physically, but via my television, so it felt very familiar as soon as I stepped over the threshold.

Fred, the French maître d’ and Cupid’s love assistant, was there to greet me. “‘Ello, Danny, your date iz already here,” and beckoned me to follow him to the bar area where, indeed, my date, Nicki, was waiting. If first impressions were anything to go by, then in the words of a 1970s Carry On movie: ding dong. Things were looking good.

A drink at the bar, some small talk to break the ice — isn’t this odd? Where do you live? How many children do you have? It was all going swimmingly. She even laughed at my corny jokes. Even though there are dozens of cameras secreted around the restaurant, after a while they tend to go unnoticed and soon it started to feel like, well, um, a proper date in a proper restaurant.

Just before we were shown to our table my possible future life partner mentioned air space over Brighton. Odd type of conversation, I’ll grant you, but never being one to let a conversation dry-up, I went along with it. “Are you in aviation?” said I, knowing this was not the best chat-up line I’ve ever delivered. She was, indeed. No, she wasn’t an air hostess as I wrongly presumed. She flew helicopters for a hobby and had a ticket on the Virgin Galactica, Richard Branson’s tourist space ship.

I’d shot myself in the foot with the trolley dolly faux pas and nothing could rescue me. Three hours later, having picked up the tab for us both, it was time for the killer question. Do you want to see each other again? Having boldly laid my cards on the table by replying “yes,” first, I then waited for Nicki’s response. There was a pause, and in that moment’s hesitation I knew it was game over for me.

The trip back home seemed unnaturally long and tinged with a certain amount of disappointment. Then again, did I really expect this to be The One? If I’m being totally honest with myself, yes, I sort of hoped it would be. Being red-carded in private is one thing, having it done on national TV is something else. Guess I’ll be renewing my JDate membership, then.

‘First Dates’ is on Channel 4 on Tuesdays at 10pm