I am lying in bed in a neck brace watching Foxy Knoxy’s trial in Italy on the TV. How could I have lost it? My Fireman, Stripper and Carousel went without a hitch, I even managed a few Christina Aguilera’s but as I flicked my legs up into my favourite position, the one that always wows my friends, the one that you see in the picture, I got the fear, I told myself I was going to fall and fall I did, right on my head.

What a blinking idiot. I mean, I should know. I am always telling friends to fight the fear and do it anyway. Hours of listening to the genius that is Dr Wayne Dyer on Hay House Radio should have brainwashed me into realizing that the laws of attraction will bring you whatever you want once you are plugged into it – negative or positive. So by saying “I am going to fall”, I should hardly be surprised that ‘by the powers of Greyskull’ the universe would react to my thoughts and send me plummeting to my embarrassing end. Why don’t I ever listen to my own bloody advice? I am always telling the kids to think positively.

Sid and Nancy both started – around the age of two – to develop this human thing we call fear – and I worked out that it was coming from the reactions of people around them, especially me and Mr Was Right – so I changed the way I reacted. Now if Sid falls over I don’t crumple my brow and go “Oooooeeeyeowch”. I smile, lift him up and say , “Great skills stunt boy”. If Nancy gets stuck up a tree and thinks she can’t climb back down, I don’t run to save her, unless she really is in a life threatening situation. I get her to say “I can do it, I can do it” and both kids now say “I can do it, I can do it” and jump from heights that make me and other playground parents squirm while I wait at base camp smiling a big smile, albeit with gritted teeth.

But it’s all very well telling your kids to change their negatives to positives when you don’t do the same yourself. I write in my affirmations book: if things don’t work out the way I plan I won’t try and push them to work anymore, I will say “Sobeit” and submit to the universe’s grand plan. From now on when I swing my legs up on the pole I will say “I can do it, I can do it,” just as, if a friend loses their job, I now say congratulations, if someone dies I crack open the champagne, if someone’s relationship breaks up I now pip, “How exciting, a new one around the corner.” As Dr Wayne Dyer preaches, ” Change your thoughts, change your life.” Like pole dancing you could be surprised at how incredibly liberating you find it.

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The Chinchillas have had more babies, Jan’s hot-footed it back to Sweden and J is playing hard to get. I check out Facebook to see if he’s on a trip too. Come on, you all do it! Aggh, he’s got messages from women with all kinds of strange profile pics. There’s one from Angel whose bottom is sticking out of bubble bath. I see another from a vixen with a stiletto heel unhooking her G-string and a lady with a Catwoman mask licking latex. This guy is clearly some goddang Pornmeister on sabbatical to fantasy land.

You can tell a lot about a person’s facebook profile so beware what you put out in the ether boys and girls. My friend Angie once lost a contract after someone saw her being rude about them on the social networking site. She had foolishly forgotten she had added them as a friend a few months before. I know we all spy on people these days but I still get freaked out on dates when the person knows my CV better than I do. I think, “I never told you that.” Even my 58yr old singing teacher, who, I might add, I would NEVER date, told me he knew everything about me through the Internet, although he rather creepily pretended he could read me like a book first. I gave up the lessons after that. My favourite story of Internet outing was told to me by my mate Allen who found out a guy was pissing him around with the sale of his house by googling him. After being told the guy could not complete (he was too busy mourning the death of his aunty) Allen found him in some online chat-room saying he was having a great day and about to head off to the pub for a few pints. A few minutes later Allen sent out a rocket of a chat message and within minutes the house sale was back on track and the guy had been publicly humiliated online.

Talking of rockets. I had better make like one as I am off to my first live pole-dancing performance in a few hours. I got into the art of tease to get rid of my cellulite. I also wanted to make my lower half move again after years in the sexual Gobi. Little did I know it would take me to another dimension with all sense of space and time disappearing after 10 minutes on the pole. Music does it to some people, art to others, well pole-dancing does it for me. Of course, I daren’t mention my hobby at Sid and Nancy’s catholic school; most of the Mums and Dads there really are too good for this world. When Sid blurted out “Mummy’s going pole dancing” to one Mum in the park the other day I had to tell a porky (thankfully I am a Buddhist if anything so I won’t need to head for the confession booth). I told her I do folk dancing in Ealing following recommendations from my Polish mum in law.

It’s a full moon tonight and, being a bit of a lunar loony, I know this is not only going to affect me but the audience as well. There’s a reason why Full Moon festivals came into being. Hardcore festival-heads know too well that we all have an urge to to bang a drum and wave a glow stick when the moon is in full glow. But feeling in more of a party mood is not the only side effect. We have problems sleeping, the police have more trouble dealing with anti-social behaviour and psychiatric hospitals report patients get that little bit more crazy when the moon is a balloon. Even the most avid disbeliever can see the Science bit. If the moon changes the way the sea works it must have some kind of effect on our own bodies of water.

I have a diary which charts the phases for me. Moon diary tells me that the waxing phase, from new moon to full moon, is the time that we are at our most outgoing and positive but as the moon then wanes we should put our more quiet and reflective heads on. It was Lovely Liz who got me into moon phases. One morning when the St John’s Wort and meditation was having about as much effect as a smile on a traffic warden, I did what I normally do when I feel low and trotted off to her flat to dump my troubles at her door.

“It’s the double moon, she said. It’s been happening to everyone.” No hint of a “Come on in, sit down, have a cuppa and tell me about the bastard,” oh no, let’s just get straight to the heart of the matter and blame the moon. In myth the Moon is said to rule things like feelings, intuition, fertility and creativity and nowadays even those who come up in hives at the mere mention of crystals, can appreciate there’s truth in what my friend says. Many winemakers, fishermen and hunters go by the lunar calendar and women’s cycles are synchronised with madame moon. So why don’t we pay more attention to it?

“Listening to feelings and hunches requires quiet time, something we rarely give ourselves these days, Abi,” sighs Liz.

Quiet time is something I value more than anything since I had children. Anyone who knows me well will have heard that I meditate for half an hour every day. They might even say, as they do to me, that it has made me a more relaxed person and seems to have halted the ageing process. But heading off into an altered state is not on my to do list today as I sashay off to wow a small crowd of full moon crazed punters with my fireman, carousel and trapeze moves. Power to the moon and power to the pole! Wish me luck tonight…

“This week I am braving it. I have erased the ‘it’s complicated’ on Facebook, taken all the pics of me, husband and kids out of my photo gallery and have added my poutiest snap to Zoosk” I tell Janey (Virgo), at our local Costa. I might have discovered my inner sex goddess but for the past week the sexiest men on the planet seem otherwise engaged. Having found out that, post-G, I no longer offer a sex-chaser after cocktails they seem a lot less interested. Don’t get me wrong, I sucked a couple of faces but once the masks slipped through my teeth I discovered rather blander people emerging underneath. So I am taking a leaf out of my friend’s book. Two years ago Janey met and married a man she is gaga about through an Internet agency so I am going to give it a go. Janey says getting to know someone who has been chosen specifically for you with no need to proffer immediate address or telephone number is the safest way to meet potentials these days.

“It’s all so different out there now, Abi. Dating has changed so much since the mid-90s. It’ll probably feel like you’ve been in a coma. But I’d be careful with putting it out there too much on Facebook and Zoosk. Go for the safer option to start with. Sign up with a couple of agencies and see what happens.”

Janey was there when I met my husband at a dinner party, we chatted, he told his best mate he had met the woman he wanted to marry, his best mate told my best mate and then I took my swag bag off to America for three months which made him really, really want me. It was all so easy, which is why she knows I will probably need a compass.

“You’re right Janey. I’ve been doing some research and it makes for dizzy reading.”

When I say dizzy I mean fairground waltzer dizzy. If the dating scene was the menu in one of Gordon Ramsey’s ‘Kitchen Nightmare’ restaurants Gordon would be going mental. I can see it now: Pub, You Tube, late night supermarket shopping, chat rooms, park, Roller Disco, Dinner, Zoosk, Nightclub, Facebook, Speed Date, Twitter….”For bleeps sake Stopppppp,” screams mouthy chef pulling his hair out, “There is too much c’in f on this bleepin menu, simplify it for f’s sake, simplify it.” And that’s before we get to the main course – aka dating sites. As Gordon gains a few more lines to his furrowed forehead the list of places you can tap into male totty keeps going. With sites for the disabled, the able bodied, the fat, the fit, the farmer, the miner, the ‘tradie’ or tradesman, the man in uniform, the dull, the disaffected, the foodie, the bookworm all requirements are catered for.

“Do you think you could you hook yourself up with a drug addict or an alcoholic if you were looking for someone to heal. Some of us rather like co-dependent relationships,” laughs my giggliest friend Heather, when I meet her that night for a drink at our favourite local, The Sozzled Bishop. This cheery, cheeky, bottle-blonde 35 year old is still married, but clearly getting her kicks from hearing about my newly separated life. “Hmmm. Not stumbled upon that one yet but now you have sent it out into the ether it’s destined for the dating conveyor belt, doll.”

There are sites for bookworms http://www.penguin.match.com; people learning to cook http://www.cookanddate.com; single parents with kids http://www.singlewithkids.co.uk; people who think they are sophisticated http://www.luxurydate.co.uk; people who like to flirt over coffee http://www.coffeeandcompany.com; no holds barred gold diggers http://www.sugardaddies.com ; people who want to chat and ‘that’ http://www.chatnthat.com; people who want to forget dinner and go Gordon Ramsay’s favourite word http://www.sexintheuk.com; people who want affairs http://www.ashleymadison.com or x rated dates http://www.verynaughty.co.uk; friends of yours http://www.friendsofyours.com; friends of Mine http://www.friendsdatinglondon.com; the single in their 50s http://www.friendsoverfifty.co.uk; eager beaver college undergrads http://www.flirtingstudents.com; flirting professionals http://www.poshflirt.co.uk. There’s even a site designed for nerds and geeks http://www.nerdpassions.com.

“You wouldn’t believe how some of these websites market themselves. I mean would you sign up to a site called http://www.marriedandlonely.com? Doesn’t that sound like the saddest ad of all?”

Heather looks down and starts biting her newly manicured nails. I go on and on as the blood rushes to her cheeks. I fail to register until much, much later, too wrapped up in today’s rant. Having researched this for days I am clearly cooking on gas.

“You can date everyone from a prison inmate http://www.meet-an-inmate.com to your local cop http://www.PoliceSingles.com. You can go Russian, Thai, Welsh; whatever your preference. You can even date and donate to a charity. I liked this idea so much I checked out the Donate 2 Date application on facebook – or d’you think I’ll I meet men with beards who are far, far too good for this world?

“Ich. I don’t get beards,” says Heather, looking up. “Facial furniture is one man-trend I’ll be happy to see the back of. Even Joaquin Phoenix looks daft with one and I LOVE Joaquin Phoenix. Have you tried Sarah Beeny’s site http://www.mysinglefriend.com? Someone recommends you. I would recommend you. You are the funniest, sexiest friend I know and you can feel safe with that property lady from the telly. She’s had babies and she’s, well, kind of sweet. ”

“Thanks Heather. I can always rely on my girlfriends for an ego boost. You’re lovely and I do value your input but I’m on a different mission.”

“Do tell!”

“Did you know that 20 million people around the world visit at least one dating site every month? The smaller sites cost a few thousand to set up and generate anything from £6000 to £60,000 a month. Well, you can just say forget the manhunt. I’m heading up my own agency.”

“How exciting, what are you going to call it?” Heather’s got a sense of humour but poor thing, she believes anything you say.

“Maybe something quirky like Madwomen for Madmen?”

“Too niche.”

“What about socialbutterflies.com?”

“That’s got a cute and flirty ring to it.”

“Whatever I call it, it’s got to be a good thing. At least it’s one way of ensuring I get first dibs on the best looking arm candy…”