Dating apps (I tell anyone who’ll listen and plenty who won’t) are doing to love in London what the machines did to humanity in the doomsday scenario from Terminator 2. And so it went against all my screaming instincts to download them again, after being bullied into it by my male best friend, who insisted there is no alternative in the 21st century. I simply have to capitulate and let the algorithms do their worst.
But when I got home and sobered up, I thought, damn it, I’d rather be Sarah Connor than compete for the honour of sleeping with some chap who, like my MBF, uses Bumble to shag eight different women at once. There is honour in attempting to save the girls of the future from so grim a fate.
