A very clued-up guy called Roger Woddis (He was a humourist, apparently - a label I'm thinking of applying to myself, since my life is like a cross between Tracy Emin's 'bed' installation, and amateur night at the comedy club), once penned the line: 'Men play the game, women know the score.'

And it's a quotation too good not to share among your women friends (who will nod sagely), to pull out of the bag with your significant other when he says he's not ready for commitment (it may stop him in his tracks, but he still won't commit), or simply add to your Facebook status and wait for the scrum.

Because it's a fact I'm beginning to find out as I pitch myself down the rabbit hole that is online dating. To say the least, Lewis Carroll could never have imagined what such a thing would look like, and he was an opium addict.

Being a 40-year-old woman looking for love online is a lot like Alice's adventures in Wonderland [a round of 'I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date' would be entirely appropriate here]. Things just get curiouser and curiouser. Surely, those 37-to-45 guys living within a 50-mile radius - okay, screw it, let's just say 300-mile radius, you don't mind moving to Glasgow for the right guy - are also looking for something meaningful too?If that's what you're thinking, stop right now. You've stepped through the looking glass, Alice, and things look a whole lot different on the other side. You are not so much going out for coffee and cake with potential Mr Rights, you have an invitation to the Mad Hatter's tea party. It doesn't take you long to realise that the conversation you are having is full of riddles.

It starts with what I will call profile sleight of hand.

In answer to 'Do you want children?', they select, 'I'm not prepared to say'. In answer to 'What kind of relationship do you want?', they select, 'I'm not prepared to say'. 'I'm not prepared to say', and 'Unspecified', my personal favourite, are really big things for guys.

And then we move on to 'chatting'.

He says he's single, but actually, he won't upload a photo and reveals that he's not Stephen, but Stuart. Meaning, he's after a) seamless move from current relationship to new woman, God forbid he should spend time on his own, reflecting, or b) a bit of rumpy on the side because his wife doesn't understand him [doesn't like to perform fellatio].

You are flattered by his attentive messages, and get ready to come over all warm and gooey, until you get a mail addressed to Debbie, when you're pretty sure the name you've been going by your whole damn life is Karen. Or, you talk on the phone, and he says he really loves that hilarious joke you told him last time, it went down a treat at a dinner party. And you're pleased for him, except this is the first time you've spoken.

You have an intense series of emails – and then he disappears - only to reappear weeks later, saying: 'Sorry, I've just been so busy at work' [translation: 'I started dating someone else, but it didn't work out'], or, better, 'Sorry, I started dating someone else and it didn't work out' [translation: 'Since the date I REALLY liked dumped me, how about you be my consolation prize?'].

And then let's not forget the scams.

You are contacted by a gorgeous widower from the States. Who then turns out to have relocated to Birmingham. And, even though his profile is immaculately written, his English isn't that good. He says this is because he's French. Except his name is Tom Smith. But this is all minor detail, because you are 'the love of his life'. And you know what? His son needs an operation: could you, the woman he's going to marry after all, lend him £5,000, otherwise poor Henri is going to die?

You realise he's actually not Tom Smith, formerly of Paris, Indiana and Birmingham, but a bunch of guys in a shack full of computers in Africa/South America/Eastern Europe. When you report him, he sends you a message telling you to watch your back, bitch, and throws in a computer virus for good measure.

As the Cheshire Cat said to Alice: 'Most everyone is mad here.'

But, actually, now and again, you do get to meet some half-decent, funny guys. Sometimes you're both simply looking for someone else. No-one said that finding 'someone special' in amongst the 'work hard, play hard' and 'I work out five times a week' and 'I like to cosy up on the sofa with a bottle of wines in front of a roaring log fire [watching Man Utd Live on Sky]' would be easy. And it isn't.

But, for now, I'll keep chasing after the white rabbit, looking at my over-sized, loudly ticking watch, keeping an eye open for the Queen of Hearts, alternately shrinking and growing in the face of frequent disappointment and the odd unexpected success, learning the rules of the game, and developing the fine art of knowing the score.