I need to buy an outfit for my niece’s wedding in June, and to avoid running down my meagre savings any further than necessary, I have been keeping a watching brief on the local charity shops.

On Friday afternoon I saw the perfect dress – a sleeveless crimson sheath with low v neck and matching jacket. But, of course, it was just a little too tight for comfort.

Before I saw it, I had no clue what I was looking for. Now, I can’t get it out of my mental image, but the chances of finding anything similar that will fit are non existent.

During my Sunday stroll by the river, I was pondering this, and another of those eternal conundrums, namely, why it is that a man who formerly seemed so ardent should without warning stop texting in mid-conversation.

And it struck me that, although I profess not to know what I’m looking for, with each unsatisfactory sexual encounter I gain a clearer idea of what it is that I’m not looking for, and hence, in the negative space left behind, a clearer outline of what I do want. But the more that outline begins to be fleshed out, the more difficult it seems to find him.

Is it a greater error to cast the net too broadly or too narrowly?