Tired of dating apps, ELLY BLAKE puts her phone down and heads out to find love the old-fashioned way, at a singles night with a difference…

The dating apps are dead. Trust me, I know.

I’ve had enough dating horror stories to last me a lifetime, and I’ve only been on them for five minutes.

There was the guy who dragged me to a pub for our first date so I could watch his football team lose spectacularly, before spending the rest of the night barely speaking.

And who can forget the one who offered to take me out for lunch before their card mysteriously ‘stopped working’ and made me foot the bill?

So, I’m officially done with the apps and have decided to try things the old-fashioned way: by going out and meeting people IRL.

And what better place to do that than London? The greatest city in the world. With a population of 8.9 million, and the latest Census data putting the number of singletons at around 40 per cent – that’s a lot of potential matches.

While doom-scrolling on Instagram one night, I come across Haystack Dating which promises to make dating ‘more inclusive and less sh**’ , with face-to-face events and a little bit of science behind it.

Luckily, there’s an event being held at Night Tales in Hackney, east London, the following Thursday so I put on my big girl pants and sign up.

I get speaking to its founder and content creator, Lucy Rout, who tells me I’ll be among more than 300 people attending.

After growing tired of online dating, and a rather YOLO trip to Vietnam for a date with the man she now calls ‘boyfriend’, Lucy was inundated with thousands of messages from women wanting to replicate her success.

This was her lightbulb moment to create Haystack Dating and the rest is history, as they say.

‘I’ve seen first hand the negative impact modern dating is having on people’s mental health and the impact it had on my own,’ she says.

‘I’m determined to make dating fun again and transform what has become effectively a chore we all dread, into a kind, exciting space again.’

Using a short questionnaire filled out before the night, which asks questions ranging from my ideal holiday to how I celebrate my nan’s birthday, Lucy and her team get to work behind-the-scenes to make the magic happen.

Inputting all us hopefuls’ answers into her unique algorithm, she starts furiously number-crunching to identify potential matches based on their compatibility.

On the night, they help break the ice by making introductions between people who share similar interests and values, before letting fate take its course.

By the time Thursday evening rolls around, I’m full of apprehension. I’ve had a long day at work and, frankly, I’m a bit tired.

I don’t exactly feel like making small talk with a bunch of people I’ve never met before. My friends tell me I probably shouldn’t start with that.

But the path to true love never did run smooth and I refuse to fall at the first hurdle. So I get dolled up, sink a quick pint beforehand for a bit of liquid luck, and head down.

By the time I arrive (fashionably late, of course), the event is already well under-way, teeming with people. Clearly I’m not the only person fed up with digital dating.

Haystack Dating’s events have seen huge demand since they launched in December last year, hosting more than 1,000 singles in just under three months.

After their first event, one in five who attended ended up going out on a first date with someone they met on the night.

With the knowledge that science is on my side, I head into the throng of singletons and immediately get talking to a travelling sales rep from Surrey. 

He’s also come on his own and we bond over our sheepishness at throwing ourselves out of our comfort zone.

We swap the basics – age, job, general interests – but it hits a dead-end when he says he doesn’t want kids because he’d rather go on expensive holidays.

Never mind, on to the next. I move on with a newfound sense of confidence. 

Next I get chatting to another female and a guy, a filmmaker, whose clearly already very smitten with her.

Despite feeling like I’m slightly third-wheeling, I soldier on and we bond over our shared love of travelling, swapping stories from our most recent adventures. 

But I take the hint when he starts, rather obviously, hitting on her by telling her he wants to make her the subject of his next film. I make my excuses for the loo and leave them to it.

Next there’s the part-time DJ, who tells me he’s come for the good vibes and just wanted to try something different.

It’s clear we’ve got similar values, and he’s the first person I’ve spoken to all night where the conversation hasn’t felt slightly forced. 

We hit it off, talking about everything from our families to what makes a fun night out, and he takes my number before it’s time to move on again.

Time starts to do that funny thing when you’re enjoying yourself, and it speeds up. Before I know it, the event is winding down and I’m leaving on a high.

Okay, I didn’t meet the loml but I got chatting to some interesting people, banished the idea that I’m the only single woman in London in my 30s fed up with dating apps, and ultimately put myself out there.

It might be a soft win, but I’m happy to claim the victory.

The next day at work, still running off the warm glow I got from the night before, my phone buzzes. A message from a number I don’t recognise flashes up.

‘Hey, this is so-and-so from last night,’ the part-time DJ says.

‘It was really nice to meet you. Would you like to go out for a drink sometime?’