Age to women is like Kryptonite to Superman

During dinner with a friend the other evening the topic moved onto a date I had coming up over the next few days.

"What age is he?", my friend enquired, as she sipped her Pinot Grigio.

"24", I replied.

My friend nearly dropped her glass of wine.

"24! But thats 3 years younger than you! You only ever go out with old people. I thought you were just going to continue to go up a generation every time. I was expecting the next one to be in his fifties"!

Once I had finished laughing, I realised she was right. I am sort of known amongst my inner circle for usually ending up with men who are rather older than me. Why? I have no idea. I don't see myself as the cliched 'looking for a father figure type'. I have a fantastic relationship with my Dad and really don't believe there are any unresolved issues lurking in the background to make me seek a boyfriend who was already in his thirties during the original Live Aid.

I've always been told I'm mature for my age. My first, albeit casual, relationship was with a guy who was 8 years older than me. Not that bad a gap if you forget that I was only 17. At the same time I was mildly infatuated with another bloke who was also 25. Boys my age just didn't to it for me. They still don't. And I have tried to give them a chance.

Both significant long-term relationships of mine have been with someone who was 10 years older than me. It worked perfectly. They were old enough to know what they wanted. Mature enough to invite me along to the pub on a Sunday to watch the football. Wise enough to know that them going out every weekend and pulling random tarts does not a stable relationship make. In short, they knew what they wanted. There were no games. No messing around. And this is the problem I find with men in their twenties. They are too young to know who they are yet. To know what it is they want from life. And the result? Mind games, unreliable relationships and (I'm sorry to say it) but slightly boring chat.

Don't be fooled. There is such a thing as too old. A fling with a man in his mid forties when I was 24 was a mistake. Another with a 43 year old when I was 25 was another mistake. Its not that there was anything wrong with these men. But they quickly became a little bit obsessed. I'm not talking stalker situations here. But their infatuation quickly became apparent. And a problem. But what aging bloke in their forties wouldn't be chuffed to have a 24 year old blonde on their arm? But the second they get too keen? I clear off. Can't help it. Just is.

I did try the younger thing. An extremely cute lad with an equally sexy job caught my attention in the pub one night a couple of years ago. And what followed was about 6 weeks of casual dating and very good sex. But the conversation was a low point. Eventually I had to call it a day when he asked me why I always enquired as to whether or not there would be a bar wherever it was we were going . I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was because I needed a couple of glasses of wine just to listen to his crap conversation.

I think if I'm honest, the reason for my penchant for the older gent lies in that age old cliche of wanting to be provided for. Of being looked after. And an older man already has the tools to do just that. Most are established in their careers. Have mortgages. Are dependable.

One guy I was seeing had no direction. No motivation to further himself and was happy sitting on a distinctly average wage packet in a distinctly average career plan. As much as I told myself it didn't matter. That it was him I was interested in. It did matter. And I believe it contributed to our downfall.

I'm not a golddigger. Quite the opposite in fact and I have always prided myself on how self-sufficient and independent I am. But I am old school. And I want a man who wants to buy me flowers. Not a shot of Sambuca.

So maybe my reasons for going for older blokes are the typical, entirely unfeminist, ones of wanting to be provided for. Or maybe I'm just a bit of a perv and that's what does it for me.

After all, I do fancy the pants off Larry Lamb.