I’m messaging a friend on Facebook, when an update catches my eye: “Giuseppe Conti” – let’s call him Giuseppe Conti – “is married to Laura Nemkova.”

I stare at the screen in disbelief: I last saw Giuseppe about two years ago, and he didn’t even have a girlfriend then. And here he is, married to a beautiful young lady.

Of course I’m very happy for dear Giuseppe … but try as I might, I just can’t stop the whiny little voice inside me that says, “Why not me?”

Now, even I have to admit that it’s a very stupid little voice. It’s not as if I even really care about getting hitched. In fact, although I had a brief moment of Bridezilla fever with The One I Almost Married, I was generally in favour of sloping off somewhere to a secret ceremony for two. The very thought of standing there like a meringue in some histrionic confection of a wedding dress made me break out in laughter, or hives, depending on the day.

No, I know myself better than that, and what I’m really lamenting is that there’s no one who cares enough about me to want to be with me.

Even thinking about it makes my throat a bit tight and the back of my eyes all itchy. Because I look at my coupled-up friends – and, believe me, there are many – and I wonder to myself if I’m really more unlovable than all of them put together.

Of course, all these kind-hearted couples assure me that I’ll find someone eventually. But the second anniversary of my singleton status has just passed, and I can’t help wondering exactly when ‘eventually’ might be: this week? This month? This year? This lifetime? I’m bored of being alone, and I can’t wait for ‘eventually’ to make its sweet mind up to arrive.

The latest trend is to tell me that it’ll happen when I stop looking. Well, excuse me for being blunt, but that’s just a load of hogwash. In which other circumstance would you tell someone that inactivity is the best way to achieve their goal?

“I really want to lose weight.”

Don’t worry! It’ll happen when you stop thinking about it.

“I want to run a marathon.”

No problem! It’ll happen when you stop thinking about it.

Hogwash. Utter, utter hogwash.

No, in all other circumstances you’d formulate a strategy – some kind of action plan to get you where you want to be, breaking the bigger task into small, achievable steps that take you ever closer to the bigger goal.

In another moment, I’d approach the project with enthusiasm and zeal. But today’s just not the day: I’m sick to the back teeth of even thinking about being single.

Maybe it’s the grey skies, maybe it’s the incessant rain that’s plagued us for weeks, but today I don’t feel proactive and dynamic. I feel sulky, recalcitrant and utterly hacked off with fate, Cupid, whoever. I’ve got the hump so badly I can’t even concentrate on my work. It’s definitely time for a coffee.

I’m just slipping my coat on when I hear a ‘ping!’ from my mobile. It’s a message from the Darkly Intriguing Man From The Gym.

Succinct as ever, the message contains just one word: “Coffee?”

And I know I shouldn’t, but I quickly type “Yes”, and head out of the door.