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So to bring hope to others across the city, she’s sharing her no-holds-barred adventures on the Sydney single scene every week.

WILL SECOND DATE BE ANOTHER CHEAPSKATE?

I’VE got a second date this week.

I know! It’s rarer than a seat on the 8.20 Fast Ferry these days.

Either I decide I’d rather sit through the whole season of Married at First Sight again than go on another date (I’m talking about you, the Happn guy I met for a drink and didn’t remove his sunnies AND wore a gold chain circa 1983) or they just text and text and text and never plan to meet again, even when I ask “do you want to meet up again”?

He wasn’t gay. Debatable about these guys, snapped in 2002 and discovered in the photo archive.Source:News Corp Australia

Anyway, it made me think about one of my other second dates.

It was when I lived in Dubai.

The guy was a hostie — yes, a cabin crew worker and Aussie.

Yes — he was straight. Apparently.

Anyway, I met him on a night out at Dubai’s Irish Village, which is kind of like a fibreglass recreation of a Dublin pub in the desert.

And, like Dublin, people drink a lot when they go there.

Anyway, I was on the dancefloor when this guy, let’s call him Doors to Manual, approached.

And I can’t quite remember what happened, but Doors to Manual took my number, and we had a drink one day.

Then, he invited me for dinner at one of Dubai’s hottest restaurants, in the Finance District — Gaucho.

But, with its cowhide chairs and abundance of steak on the menu, it wasn’t my preferred choice, being veggie and all ... but still.

Anyway, things were about to get a lot worse.

As we arrived, Doors to Manual grinned as he told me he’d informed them it as our anniversary.

Our one year anniversary.

I lived in that tallest one, Princess Tower. Glam — except for the constant fire scares.Source:News Limited

There was no time to back out.

And the gushing staff couldn’t congratulate us enough.

They even brought us Champagne (a glass mind, not a bottle, much to Doors to Manual’s disappointment).

What a cheapskate!

I wanted to sink through the cream leather seat and be swallowed up by the sand.

Lord knows why I gave him any more dates.

Maybe the sun had addled my mind?

And we’d seen each about four times.

Then, he boasted he’d brought some lovely food back from one of his flights to Germany, and he’d come over to my place and cook.

I lived in the world’s tallest apartment building, not as glam as it sounds as when the fire alarm went off, which was often, I had to peg it down 29 flights, literally fearing for my life.

Anyway, the dish turned out to be fresh pasta.

Which wasn’t so fresh three days and thousands of miles later, nor any different from that on offer at my corner shop.

Still, my mum’s the only person who’s cooked for me in the past decade so it was nice never the less.

And the next week, I invited him to the fancy opening of a new bar.

He said he couldn’t wait.

But I was the one left waiting in the foyer.

And waiting. And waiting.

A lovely place to dine. Except when your date fakes an anniversary to get free ChampagneSource:Getty Images

He hadn’t just been delayed — he never arrived.

So I went inside, where I gulped a free wine. And then another.

Eventually I got hold of him on the phone.

Doors to Manual told me he’d “ironed his shirt and everything” but he “couldn’t do it” and “didn’t want to get involved” as he was “probably going to be moving home soon anyway.”

I cried. Perhaps because of the wine. Perhaps because I’d been let down — again.

So this second date, can only be an improvement — right?

Originally published as Second date flashbacks haunt Sarah