Dating can seriously damage your sanity. Single girl Rachel Roberts reveals her worst ever date

A married friend of mine confided in me last week that she missed going out on dates. Which can only mean that A) She's completely lost her marbles, or B) She's living proof that time really heals any scars.

As anyone lost in the wilderness of singledom will tell you, the only people who think that dating is fun are the ones who don't need to do it anymore.

When actress Amanda Holden was single she moaned: 'I'm not enjoying dating. It makes me feel like I'm on a motorway, waiting to be hit.' I know what it feels like to be dating road-kill. My last dating experience felt more like punishment than pleasure.

It started so promisingly - a perfect blue sky, a trip to the seaside, and a naughty night in a hotel. But as with any recipe, it only takes one wrong ingredient to ruin the taste. Step forward, Greg*, who made the experience inedible.

We'd been seeing each other for a few weeks, and I thought it had potential - a 'slow-burner'.

That was until we were on the train and Greg started pulling very strange faces. He'd had a curry the night before and was suffering a bad case of 'ring sting'. I waited for him to tell me he was joking. He didn't.

Well, I reasoned with myself, at least he's not going into too much detail.

No, he saved that until later. When we arrived at the hotel, he told me he had to go and 'lay some cable' in the toilet.

With the return train not running until the next morning, I had no choice but to stay. I did what any self-respecting girl in my position would do. Order a drink.

Thanks to a few Jack Daniels, I survived the evening and passed out in bed later on.

The soothing sounds of church bells bathed the bedroom the following morning - along with the unmistakable smell of vomit. After too many drinks, Greg had been sick all over his sheets.

Even worse, he was intending to leave the hotel without saying a word. After a death glare from me, he reluctantly muttered something about having a 'little accident' as we were checking out.

But did Greg get the hint that I didn't fancy him any more, when I then practically threw myself in front of an oncoming taxi to get home? Judging by the text he sent me an hour later, 'Thanks for a lovely weekend, hope we can do it again,' I think not. His telephone number has now been erased from my phone - if only memories were that easy.

I have been accused of being picky in the past, but a girl's got to have her standards. At 32, I'm realistic enough to know that Mr Right doesn't equal Mr Perfect. Not phoning on time I can live with, being forced to hear about someone's toilet habits is just wrong.

As is finding out that a 45-year-old man has a collection of cuddly teddy bears, that a loaded TV producer paid for our romantic dinner date with his company's card, and - a common one this - he's on a 'break' from his girlfriend. Roughly translated, he means for the night, so he can get you into bed.

Although I still get the odd shiver when thinking about my diary of dating disasters, there's a smile playing across my face. Perhaps when I'm hitched like my married mate - with the one-way highway of monogamy stretching out before me - I'll long for the unknown adventure of a date like she does.

But for now, I'm still so rattled by my experience with Greg, the only date I'll be having in the future is with my plastic friend, Miss Jessica Rabbit...

*Names have been changed to protect their identity

How bad was your worst date? Spill the beans on your dating disasters