My friend Kerry, tired of my moaning, had told me about an upmarket dating agency that takes on only high-achieving rich people.
'You need someone generous,' she said, my husband's name unspoken between us, 'with a bank account, not a piggy bank'.
She told us,“It’s important to create a world where we can mix freely without fear of pairing up with a below-the-stairs oik.
Until now, I always thought people who resort to dating agencies must be a little desperate. I have never before even been set up by friends or been on a blind date.
Liz Jones braves the snow in Times Square, New York, as she searches for Mr Right I think the reason I never met men was that I was either working, or sat at home, wishing they'd come to me, which, of course, they didn't.
With such a terrible track record, I started to realise that, if I couldn't meet someone when I was in my prime, how on earth was I going to meet someone now I'm 50?
When he arrives I am disappointed: he looks ordinary, in a normal, brownish suit, clutching a briefcase.
I'm not interested in the boring banker types that make up the bulk of her clients.
And so, just before Christmas, I meet Mairead Molloy.
Irish by birth, and having made a fortune in hotels, she now divides her time between Cannes and London.
After precisely one hour he asks for the bill, which immediately tells me he doesn't fancy me. Contrary to popular opinion there are, according to Mairead, a glut of rich, single men in New York.
I hobble off into the night on my shoes and text Mairead: 'Am V depressed. I find this hard to believe, having watched a great many episodes of Sex And The City, but I valiantly call skirt and shoes into service yet again (wearing the same outfit acts, I as a sort of scientific control), meet Christie, from Mairead's sister agency, Premier Matchmaking, who is hand to arrange everything.