Sexy, fifty and single (again)

I've dated an interesting mix of men. I've quaffed vintage champagne with a 28-year-old international financier and danced the salsa with a 65-year-old Cuban cigar roller. I've enjoyed ballets, musicals and club crawls. My hand has been clutched in the back seat of an arthouse cinema and I have been lunged at in the front seat of an Aston Martin.

This may sound like the behaviour of a teenager rather than the fiftysomething, twice-divorced grandmother I am, but I'm single, so why shouldn't I expose myself to every dating opportunity that comes along. I'm looking for a handsome, charming, erudite and wealthy man who takes care of his body. But I haven't met him so far and always seem to prefer men half my age. If I fancy shacking up with younger men, I don't see why I shouldn't. After all, Jerry Hall, Joan Collins and Kim Cattrall are all at it.

I never had a chance to date many men when I was young - so I feel like I'm living my life back to front. At 21, I married a property developer and soon after gave birth to my first daughter, Gabrielle. She is now 33, and married with two daughters of her own. My marriage ended after four years, but thankfully my ex-husband and I are on excellent terms.

My second marriage, to another property magnate, lasted 14 years and produced another daughter, Lauren, now 28. By the time I was single again, I was 42. At first the experience was daunting; I was frightened at the thought of being out there, especially as the competition was 20 years younger than me.

I've lived most of my life in London and have always enjoyed a fruitful career, working as an antiques dealer and interior designer, which made me financially independent. After my second marriage ended I moved to Maida Vale with Gabrielle, then 17, and 12-year-old Lauren, and the three of us shared a flat.

Well-meaning friends were keen to introduce me to suitable partners. I was invited to a series of dinner parties where I was expected to hit it off with Malcolm the Accountant or George the Solicitor, just because they were two years older than me and also single. I'd be much more interested in the twentysomething Jamie, who was practising guitar in the back bedroom, but I couldn't tell my hosts that.

One of my first dates after the divorce was one of these dinner-party matches. He was a few years older and a respectable divorcé. He took me out for dinner but then unattractively lunged at me afterwards. There were many more dates like that, with men who were more suitable, but I never fancied them.

After I had been divorced for a year, I was asked to keep an eye on a friend's 19-year-old daughter, Katie.

We used to go together to wine bars and clubs. I found that I often pulled and she didn't. The first young man I met in a bar was a gorgeous 27-year-old South African art director. He started chatting me up. Because I was with Katie and two of her friends, I said, 'Why are you talking to me? Talk to them.' He replied that he was much more interested in me. Naturally, I felt very flattered and we ended up having a two-month liaison.

Young men may be infinitely more fanciable, but they play havoc with your life. I was waiting for the phone to ring like a lovesick teenager. They won't commit to a date in advance, and you could be dumped without warning if Real Madrid were playing football on TV that night. And, of course, they're not faithful. My South African eventually disappeared with my Ray-Bans and £10 he owed me.

Although it hadn't been perfect, it didn't put me off and I continued to date young men. I've been known to creep home late from a hot date to find Lauren, my single daughter, pacing the floor with a "What-time-do-youcallthis?" look on her face. Like any single "girl", when I have a date, I go into a manic mode about what to wear. I buy new clothes and lingerie, hiding the racier stuff for fear of filial disapproval.

I never joined a dating agency but I did go on a singles ski trip - it was fantastic. I went with a girlfriend my age, and we both pulled younger men; she spent the next six years with hers. Soon afterwards, I started a two-year relationship with the "right sort" - he was my age, an architect, charming, and my family and friends approved. But the fizz wasn't there.

I met the next love of my life when I decided to sell my Maida Vale flat - both the girls had left home and it was too big for me. My estate agent was a handsome 27-year-old. I fancied him but would never have made the first move - I didn't want to be predatory. One evening, after about two months, he declared his feelings to me. I said I felt the same. We started dating and fell very much in love. We took the flat back off the market and he moved in with me shortly afterwards. We were together for six years. My daughters were both brilliant - they were happy to see me happy. They'd seen my previous ups and downs; being single isn't always easy and going on endless dates can be, at times, depressing.

I did feel we were a bit mismatched when we went out, but I dress quite young and he looked older than his age. He didn't want children and seemed happy playing with my grandchildren. Marriage was discussed, but I didn't feel the need to change anything. It ended two years ago for the usual reasons - complacency and lack of communication.

I was over 50 and back on the dating scene. This time round, it's been much harder. I'm that little bit older and the good men get snapped up very quickly. I'm very pro-active, go out most nights and still date the occasional toyboy. Many dates have become friends, but there are some weirdos out there as well. One 53-year-old single friend was asked round to her date's house for dinner - he then threw her out at 10pm because he had a hooker coming round.

It can be a jungle out there, but for me, giving up is simply not an option. I'm still looking for love as much as I did when I was a teenager.

Move Over, Mrs Robinson, the new older woman's guide to dating, mating and relating, by Wendy Salisbury and Maggi Russell (Robson Books £8.99) is out tomorrow.