My friend (blonde, toned, tanned, smart and six years my junior) had caught another fish in the sea.

Not just any fish, mind you, a real dishy fish. The kind of fish even Rex Hunt would kiss, but never throw back - if he wasn’t a man’s man with a beard and a giant Y chromosome.

Nick, the dishy fish in question, is the type of heavenly creature you’d want served with its head attached, perhaps with a crunchy green side salad and maybe some crispy, golden fries, just for good measure.

Tall, dark and handsome, Nick the Fish finally took the bait, hook, line and sinker, after nearly two years.

Sure he tried to swim free a couple of times, but my friend was a patient (if not an occasionally frustrated) fisherwoman and reeled him in slowly, but surely.

Well done, Sally.

Woe is me.

CONGRATS, was my reply.

Short, sweet, straight to the point. It was all I could manage.

I haven’t even called her. Been too busy at work for a proper chat, I tell myself. On the weekend, I’ll make the effort. But what will I say? “Hello darling. Wonderful news about your engagement. You’re so right for each other. I knew he loved you. He’s definitely the one. It will last forever”.

What I’m really thinking is: “Lucky bitch! You’ve beaten me to it, again. How come you get all the good-looking blokes? What’s your secret? Does he have any single mates? And don’t ask me to be your matron of honour”.

But, of course, I would never say that to my friend. Sally is happy now. She’s landed her man, while I’m still out there trawling the ocean. The only bites I get are from sharks or the occasional nibble from a groper . . . if you know what I mean.

In fact, I reckon the saying that there are plenty more fish in the sea only applies to bayside city chicks, like my mate who lives in Newport where apparently there’s no bag limit! For us inland dwellers, there’s a drought of attractive, available, able men.

Perhaps it’s just that I’m not using the right lures or that I need to work on my casting technique. (No couch jokes, please) And if I did catch a live one, would I really know what to do? Grill it.

Hmm, maybe it’s my preparation technique that’s all wrong; a little more battering up might serve me better.

Where’s my recipe book? Surely, Nigella Lawson knows a thing or two about fish, men and second helpings, I mean husbands.

It’s not that I want a second husband, so much as I wouldn’t mind checking out the specials board from time to time.

Bon appetit mon ami!

- SUSAN MASTERS is the News Editor of The Advertiser.