Much like the current Economic Status, my life is in recession

Folks, I’ve made a quite horrible discovery-I’m leading a life in reverse.

Why, you may ask do I think that, after all you’ve been to university, got a job, passed your driving test and leading a good life?

Well my answer to you is a complicated and unusual one.

At an early age it was clear I was an intelligent kid. I’m not quite sure where I got it from-my dad can’t spell to save his life, and my sister certainly hasn’t inherited any degree of intelligence whatsoever (hello Zoe).

My mum must be an understated, undiscovered genius.

Anyway, by the time first school came to an end in 1996, I was an expert in all things Volcanoes, Earthquakes, Space Travel and Dinosaurs, was writing stories Roald Dahl would be proud of, and was even showing signs of becoming the next Alan Titchmarsh.

For example when I was very little, and when other kids my age were playing football in the park, I was discussing Geraniums and Marigolds in the garden with my dad.

And this isn’t a lie, I once invited my best mate over after school, and while others would be showing off their latest Action Man figure, I was showing off my dad’s latest Petunias in the front garden.

Well, at least so my friend claims, I certainly don’t remember it.

My dad must have been wincing, offering me a football to play with, only for me to bat it away in favour of some potting compost and a watering can.

I would regularly go to bed, not with a Game Boy or a Television, but with a complicated book or magazine aimed at a generation above me.

But something must have worked back then, heck, in those days I was even a success with the ladies. I would spend many a playtime walking around the playground hand in hand with two Australian twins.

If I’d have realised how good that would have sounded when I was 22, I would have made more of an effort to stop them emigrating back to Australia at the end of year 3.

I was a total academic success (note-I wasn’t a geek!). The only thing I was useless at was sport.

But now I’m on the verge of joining the local hockey team, but am doing a job that any 16-year-old could do.

It’s a complete role reversal. I remember my dad once saying “Ah Rich, you’re useless at sport, but at least you’ve got a brain.”

Sadly that sentence would now read “Rich, you’ve got a useless job, but at least you’re playing hockey now.”

But this is my point exactly; my life has taken a dramatic reverse. It’s like I was born with the brain of a business executive, and am gradually regressing to the state of a toddler.

I should have made the most of it and taken my idea of a felt tip pen with a clock in it to Dragons Den while I still had business acumen.

"It's a pen, with a clock in it. I'm looking for a £10,000 and a pack of Fruit Pastilles for a 15% share of my company." Theo Paphitis and co would have snapped it up in an instant.

But my stories these days generally consist of “Bob and Bill were playing in the park, got bored, and went to a Pub. The End.”

My knowledge of Volcanoes and Earthquakes has been shaken to the ground, my thoughts on Dinosaurs are extinct and my knowledge of space travel has burned up on re-entry.

I can’t tell a daisy apart from a buttercup, and the last time I held hands with a two girls at the same time we were all drunk as sailors.

I may be a walking encyclopaedia of Motorsport, but that hasn’t got me off the starting grid yet.

I made a success of Middle School as well. I won the Science Achievement Award and a Public Speaking Award on my final day of Year 8.

But these days I can’t tell a kidney from a heart, and the periodic table sounds much more like a woman’s monthly schedule.

And when I stand up in front of people these days, all that’s heard is a garbled mess, devoid of any sense or interesting content.

These days I eat more sweets than I ever did when I was young. I have an addiction to fizzy pop. I enjoy riding a bicycle for pleasure. It’s a wonder I’m not riding up and down the street, hands off both handlebars screaming ‘wheeeeee look at me mummy!’ at the top of my voice, before slamming head first into a parked car.

This time next week I’ll be calling for old friends asking if they want to play hide and seek.

Frankly this is all getting a little worrying. I’m considering placing an order for some Pampers just in case my digestive system starts to regress too.

But my worries are now over, I’m off to get some milk formula and some strained carrots. Life is good.

Internet dating is a thing of the past, Supermarkets are the way to go.

Well it’s been over a week now since I joined Match.com, apparently the UK’s largest online dating site, and as of yet, I’ve had no luck.

I say that, I’ve did receive an email off a woman the other day (Yes, I know, I almost had a heart attack too).

Now before I go into details, I should point out that on my profile I have stated I’m looking for women aged 18-24.

This woman is 39, and is looking for guys between the ages of 40-50.

Can you not read love?! When I said I was looking for girls aged 18-24, I didn’t mean 18-24, give or take 15 years.

But then again maybe she skipped my details and looked straight at my photos, thought “yeah he seems like the mature type, well groomed, full head of hair, probably a pipe-smoker and tweed flat cap wearer-I’ll give him a try.”

If she looked at my photos and assumed I was between 40 and 50, then something drastic must have happened, the other day a customer at work assumed I was 16.

I’m aware of the saying that a camera adds a few pounds, I didn’t realise in my case it added a few decades as well. Crikey, I’ve aged at least 24 years in 2 days. Someone book me a funeral, and while you’re at it, I want a gold casket and Shaheen Jafargholi to perform a tribute.

You thought Michael Jackson’s funeral was something special-you wait till you come to mine!

Sorry, I’ve sidetracked horribly.

Anyway, The fact she missed that I’m looking for a girl 15 years younger than her also tells me to avoid.

But then at the back of my head I hear those words that have dogged me my whole life; “Ah there you go being all picky again!”

I’ve also been told to lower my standards, which I intend to do, but not to the point where I’m dating someone old enough to be my mother.

Heck, if I got with this woman I could end up being her carer when I’m supposedly in the prime of my life.

“Rich, you up for the pub tonight?”

“Nah, sorry mate, I’m giving the missus a bed bath and a cup of hot cocoa.”

And another thing, the latest TV advert states that the website is full of ‘gorgeous girls.’

Am I missing something here? All my matches so far look as if they shot out of the womb straight into a brick wall.

This does not mean, by the way, that once again I’ve set my standards too high. These girls just have to be seen to be believed.

Actually, no that’s disgracefully harsh of me. They’re not that bad, I’m just being picky, again.

But to be honest I’m now thinking that Internet dating is over-rated, and so I’ve devised a new plan.

It’s called Supermarket Sweep, and before you ask, no it does not involve dashing around filling up trolleys with items you’ve been told to find by a perma-tanned, camp television presenter.

But what a great idea it would be if Waitrose, Tesco, Morrisons or Aldi were to hold blind date sessions at their stores?

If you were upper class you’d find a girl at Waitrose, if you were more middle class you’d head to Tesco, and if you were bottom of the barrel looking for a cheap fix you’d go to Aldi.

You’d be assigned to each girl at random, help her with her shopping and have a friendly conversation while you’re going along.

What better way to find out everything about a girl?

“So, Rich, does this girl like Motorsport?”

“Beats me, but I know she likes Broccoli, uses Herbal Essences shampoo, drinks Jacobs Creek rose wine and listens to 80’s music.”

And also, if she picks up a crate of beer, or hair removal cream, you’d know to run a mile.

After all I wouldn’t want to be sitting in my garden sipping away at my Fruli, only to turn to my right to see my girl on her fifth John Smiths of the night, with armpit hair billowing out of her crop-top.

Actually if she’s buying the crate of beer for me then that’s acceptable I suppose.

Literally anyone could take part in Supermarket Sweep-even guys too shy to actually meet girls could boost their confidence by trying to charm the scanners off the self-service checkouts, let’s face it that computerised voice is quite seductive.

“Please scan your Clubcard.”

And there’s another thought-successful dates could always be rewarded with Clubcard points, and those dates that don’t quite work could be refunded, or exchanged for an alternative date-after all, every little helps.

You know what, I think I’ve struck gold here. Tesco, expect a phone call.