I DON'T have halitosis, a moody disposition (well, most of the time anyway) or a desperate need to wear a dress by Roberta Buchan or Berketex.

I don't go out looking like a wet dog every morning, (unlike one girl on the number 38 bus - I mean, get a hairdryer!) And I don't have a muffin-top from wearing too-skinny jeans.

But over the past three months I've searched everywhere from speed dating to singles nights, online dating sites to down the back of my sofa.

And I've still failed to find a man.

So what am I doing wrong?

Some readers of the Evening Times website think they know.

"Sarah must be socially inept if she has not found a man by now," said one posting.

Another equally sensitive commentator said I'm still single because I'm "deaf, blonde and dumb".

And one, who may not have been totally wrong, wrote: "Debbie Harry at 63 is better looking then you, love!"

But then a letter landed on my desk. And it was even more hard-hitting than the website wise owls.

It came from truck driver Willie. He had parked his lorry in a layby not to write to invite me on his next fuel blockade but to drive a message home.

And he told me exactly what I didn't want to hear - the truth.

He wrote: "I'm not trying to chat you up - I'm a wee bit too old (42) and too short (5ft 10in), although I do have some hair, but not on my head ... on my back."

No, dear old Wille didn't want a date. He wanted to give me was some advice.

It said simply: "I think maybe you're trying too hard."

What? How dare he try to tell me what I'm doing wrong? What could he possibly know about looking for love when he spends 20 hours a day in a cab the size of a French Connection fitting room trucking from Coatbridge to Cologne?"

But when I thought more about it I realised Willie was probably right.

Because I must confess that looking for a man has begun to impinge on every part of my life.

Even the other day at the dentist in Partick I found myself scanning the waiting patients for potential partners (well, I had read all the National Geographics).

And I did spot a hot Irish dentist (If you're single please call me!) Then, when I took my car for a service I MOT-ed the Kwik Fit fitters. But they all had too many miles on the clock for me.

And I've even tried to figure out if any of the hunky hairdressers at my salon have ever pitched up on a campsite.

Yes, my eyes are permanently open to the possibilities of procuring a partner.

I'm like a bloodhound in a Sherlock Holmes mystery but without the wet nose and wrinkly jowls (though I do have similar eyes after all my nights out).

But perhaps my nose is so close to the ground that when a big juicy man does come along, I don't see him.

So, I folded up the letter, switched on my computer and decided to focus on work instead. I needed to forget about finding love for a while.

But there in my inbox was an e-mail. From a man.

See, as soon as you stop looking, you start to find answers...

Thanks, Willie.