Starbucks - the source of all that is good. (Alternate title: Damn, I'd like a spoonful of whipped cream on THAT.)

As a woman with a relatively... active ((cough))... dating calendar (ahem), I am often asked where I recommend going to meet men, and often my answer is received with a rather large dose of "What the...?"

For the best place ON EARTH to meet men is unequivocally not the bar, pub or nightclub. It isn't the supermarket or library either(Ummm...zzzzzzzzzzz), but that great, green beacon of hope and exploitation, Starbucks.

Comfortingly ensconced within its walls of muted naturals and amidst the aromas of South American and Rwandan coffee beans, I have worked some of my most impressive magic on some of the most unsuspecting prey (how delightful). It's like my own little man store, organised regionally...

**PSA from the Barreness**

"Fancy a city boy with a sharp suit and puncture-ready ego? Starbucks, Canary Wharf, London.

Looking for someone a bit more intellectual (or have a penchant for tweed and elbow patches)? Starbucks, Cambridge city centre, England (or Massachusetts, really).

Perhaps a free-thinking, earthy type, into Jack Johnson and "herbal remedies"? Starbucks, virtually anywhere in Southern California (just watch for the guilty-looking one).

Starbucks. Serve 'em up."

((Queue smiling hottie with sparkling eyes and steaming latte.))

**And...cut.**

Quite recently, I found myself walking past the picture window of my local 'Bucks, whilst en route out to, in actual fact, a lunch date with a reasonably yummy Scotsman (who somehow magically slipped from my mind), when I happened upon the most attractive man I've ever seen in the flesh (note: "attractive", not "hot", sexy" or "Spanish") sat cozily against the glass with:

a) a full mug of something frothy

b) a copy of the Guardian (pseudo-intellectual lefty rag) and

c) no wedding ring.

And suddenly there simply was no option for continuing the day, sans caffeinated beverage.

It transpired that his name was Jason (sure it was) and that he was an investment banker type who "couldn't help but overhear my conversation" (Read completely FAKE mobile phone convo with imaginary mate re impending trip to Africa, i.e. interesting location and therefore conversation starter. Yes, I am a manipulative c*nt. And possibly also a genius.).

The rest of the very brief relationship isn't even worth recounting (BIG ego, TINY...), but rest assured that he was just one of so many men I've met at the World's Favourite Coffee Shoppe that I've actually forgotten most of their names. In fact, I simply referred to him as "Gorgeous Starbucks Man" until our third date. And then, "My Little Friend from 'Bucks". But I digress.

So ladies, here's a tip from The Barreness to you (please send thank yous in the form of financial contribution):

Starbucks is a veritable breeding ground for attractive men, great and small ((Snigger. Sorry Jason.)).

I mean, look at the facts - keen on addictive substances (bonus), able(we hope) to pronounce Rwanda, and can afford to pay £10/$15 for a cup of hot, bean flavoured water, so likely to be gainfully employed.

And from some of the dating disasters I've heard recently, those three criteria are very nearly akin to Prince Charming.

You're welcome.