Three winters ago I was living in a flat off Kirkstall Road, working shifts, and going to the same two pubs in Headingley. A friend installed Tinder on my phone while I was waiting for the kettle to boil and told me, more or less, to stop being dramatic about it. I matched with a lot of people that first month and went on four dates. Three were fine. One lasted two hours and ended with an awkward hug outside the bus station.

The fourth date is now the person I share a house with. But the route there was not smooth, and I made nearly every mistake available before I worked out what I was doing. Here is what I learned, in the order I learned it.

My first few weeks were mostly noise

I swiped on the 18 bus, in queues, in the ad break of whatever I was half-watching. Twenty minutes a day, thumb going, barely reading past the first photo. I matched with people I had nothing to say to and then wondered why the conversations died on the second message.

The problem wasn't the app. It was that I hadn't decided what I wanted. Not a checklist of requirements — height, job, postcode — but the shape of the thing. Did I want someone to go to gigs with? Someone to cook for on a Sunday? Something casual, and honest about being casual? Once I could answer that, my swiping got slower and much better. Some evenings I swiped left on everything and closed the app, and that was the point.

Patience looked like doing less, not trying harder

For a while I treated every slow reply as a puzzle to solve. I'd send a second message, then a third, then check whether they'd been online since. That isn't patience. That's admin with a knot in your stomach.

What worked was boring. I stopped swiping after 11pm. I stopped replying to messages that were just "hey". If someone took three days to come back to me, I answered when I felt like it and let the conversation find its own level. Most chats faded out. A few didn't, and a few was plenty.

A truthful profile did the heavy lifting

My first profile was technically accurate and completely useless. Five photos from 2019, all taken at the same angle, plus "love travel, food and laughing". I might as well have written "human, vaguely".

I rewrote it over a weekend and the quality of my matches changed within days. Not the quantity — the quality. People opened with questions instead of "hi".

What I put in

• The photos that showed an ordinary week: me at a barbecue, me on a walk at Roundhay, one unglamorous picture of me mid-laugh in a kitchen.
• One clear face shot as the first photo. No sunglasses, and no group shots where nobody can tell which one is you.
• Honest facts that filter people in rather than out: I'm 5ft 4in, I have a rescue dog who takes up most of my free time, I'm vegetarian, and I'm in bed by half nine on a weeknight.
• A line about what I actually do at the weekend — Sunday league football, a pint afterwards, a long walk if the weather allows.

The dog did more for my matches than any clever line ever could, because it gave people something real to ask about. Awkward silences in a chat usually mean there's nothing concrete to grab hold of.

The chat has a shelf life

I once messaged someone for three weeks. Long, funny messages, in-jokes, proper effort. We met on a Saturday afternoon and were done in 40 minutes. We were both perfectly nice people with nothing to say to each other in person, and we had spent three weeks building something that only existed in text.

Now I'd say two things. Ask a question that can't be answered with one word. Then, once the replies are flowing and you've been talking for a few days, suggest meeting. Something like: "There's a decent coffee place near the Corn Exchange. Are you free Thursday after work?" Clear, low stakes, easy to say yes to and easy to say no to.

If they keep postponing, take it at face value and move on. Someone who wants to meet you will find an hour.

Keep the first meeting short and public

Every good first date I had was short. Ninety minutes at most, somewhere public, with an easy exit for both of us. Long dinners and cinema trips are for date three, once you know you can hold a conversation with the person.

Ideas that work in Leeds without much planning:

1. Coffee somewhere central, then a walk along the canal if it's going well.
2. A pint at North Bar or Belgrave, standing rather than sitting, so it stays relaxed.
3. A wander round the Corn Exchange or the market, which gives you things to look at when the chat dips.
4. A loop of Roundhay Park or the Meanwood Valley Trail on a weekend morning, for anyone who would rather not sit opposite a stranger.

Tell a friend where you're going and roughly when you expect to be back. Arrange your own transport home. That isn't cynicism, it's just sensible, and it means you're not relying on the other person for anything.

What I'd tell anyone opening the app in Leeds tonight

None of this is a formula, and I'm not pretending it is. But if I were starting again, this is the order I'd do things in:

1. Work out what you actually want — a relationship, a bit of fun, someone to go to gigs with. Be honest with yourself before you're honest with anyone else.
2. Build a profile you'd recognise as yourself in a year's time. Clear face photo first, a few ordinary ones after, and specific facts instead of adjectives.
3. Open with a question someone can actually answer.
4. Suggest meeting within a week or so of good chat, somewhere public and short.
5. Treat the first meeting as a conversation, not an audition. If it isn't there, say so kindly and don't drag it out.

It took me four dates and a fair amount of swiping to find the person I now argue with about whose turn it is to empty the dishwasher. The patience wasn't about waiting for fate to sort itself out. It was about being clear on who I was, and turning up as that person rather than a tidier version of myself.

Photo: Hans / Pixabay