I think I've become a predator. I've heard stories of people meeting their great love at the airport, or on a plane. But stupid me took the 8.05am flight. No wonderful single men would get up that early. I'm off to Miami for some winter sun, very proud of myself that I've lined up three dates via a website. Let's see the reality.
It's a long, long flight and we don't arrive to the expected sunshine, but overcast skies. I settle in and bravely phone the three, in order of preference, and arrange to meet. Then the Saturday date rings back and cancels. So does Sunday's. Mind you, I'm still very jet-lagged, so perhaps they know something I don't. The third date does not even ring and I can't be bothered to ring him. Men! Do I care? I email all three and tell them about the gorgeous woman they missed out on. Scott replies: "Yes, I probably did miss out." I'm moved - for a millisecond.
Next night I'm strolling with cousin Gloria and her friend, Bill, down in lively Lincoln Road. We sit down in an Italian restaurant. Three guys at the next table are talking about women. What else? I introduce myself, the dating expert from England. All Jewish; the married one is the cutest, and most attentive. We all laugh and flirt. I listen, and learn. Different accent, same comments.
We say goodbye and mingle with the crowds. I linger behind Bill and Gloria, and a familiar face at a table catches my eye. I shake his hand and he asks: "Do you know who I am?" I tell him I do: he's Jackie Mason.
He invites us to join him. People keep stopping and talking to him. I move up to sit next to him, very close. He asks me about myself, and we have quite a serious moment. We take photos. We sit there almost regally like a couple. He leans in close to tell me about his family, who disowned him once he gave up being a rabbi.
"Can I get your number?" he asks. "Can I have lunch with you tomorrow?" He seems keen. I'm slightly shocked. We swap numbers and leave. Is this going to be my first date in Miami, my best date? Lunch with Jackie Mason.
We speak next day. "Is that the English reporter? Are we having lunch?" We are. I'm flattered, elated, and a bit scared. We arrange to meet at a kosher restaurant called Jerry's Famous Deli.
But he's delayed. Mike, his driver, can't find the restaurant, and by the time we meet he's in a rage. My date looks in jeopardy. Finally, he calms down and we leave to find a juice bar. Jackie's brought an entourage - friends from New York. Gloria is with me. He sits down right beside me, and asks me about my family. I tell him about my famous brother. "I hope he looks after you well," he cracks. People come in and out of the juice bar, and he banters with everyone.
"So when are we going to have dinner? Are you busy? When can I see you?" I get up to go to the loo. "Let me watch you as you walk," he says. I'm wearing slightly see-through cotton trousers, and the fact that he's watching makes me feel uncomfortable.
I return. "Mike, is he serious? About seeing me or anything else?" Mike nods. Oh my God - I'd like to be famous, but, being with Jackie Mason... I'm not sure I want to be that famous. His New York friend whispers to Gloria: "Jackie really likes her, but I think she's too young." Or he's too old.
He's not cuddly, we have no physical contact, but I feel his eyes on me all through lunch. We laugh some more, and then they all leave. He has family coming to town. We speak later. "Come and see me after my dinner. At 11pm." What could we do at that hour?
I don't go. Next day, he's leaving Miami. I look at his number nestling in my phone -and don't make the call. Wise decision?
This is an occasional column. Elizabeth Green runs Trusting Love relationship courses (elizabeth@yestorelationships.co.uk)