It’s spring! Birds are singing, the sun is intermittently shining, and my social life appears to be full of shy guys not quite yet in bloom.

Picture the scene if you will: Your intrepid reporter — that would be me — is in a nightclub talking to not one, but two attractive men. This would seem like a promising situation for any single gal about town, but it wasn’t. Nope, instead of trying to bamboozle me with strong drink and sweet words, they were telling me about their adventures in STI testing. Be still my beating loins!

At 2:30 in the morning I learnt that Sean goes for the swab test, while Cian is squeamish and prefers the blood test. Lovely! Then again, earlier in the evening I was telling Cian about American parents getting rid of their adopted kids on Craigslist so I guess I am not about to win any “excellence in small talk” awards either, and to be honest, the conversation was fascinating.

Sean and Cian are my friends, and both of them are very pretty boys so they should have been circulating and spreading the love — in a safe, responsible manner of course. Joey, a more socially adept young man, tried to introduce Sean to a lovely young lady, but he could not screw his courage to the sticking place and returned to our chat about chlamydia.

Which, frankly, is odd if not downright socially inept. Lucky for them we live in a world where Tinder exists, and Sean informed me he’d been using this to great effect. If someone has pre-selected you based on a photo and has decided they are DTF, even the most awkward man would find it hard to mess up. After all, they are unlikely to be interested in your opinions on the Ukraine or whether or not you fancy Ireland’s chances in this year’s Eurovision.

At the bar Cian asked if I’d like to spend the night at his place. He made the offer sound strictly practical, which it well may have been. I had to be up early to meet HP’s lovely Roisin Dwyer for brunch at the Paris Bakery on Moore Street, and since Cian lives north of the Liffey, he suggested this would be easier for me. I considered but decided that a clean change of clothes was preferable to an extra half an hour asleep. It was only the next day that it dawned on me that perhaps my public transport needs had not been uppermost in his mind — but who the hell knows?

Some people are shy so they don’t say much at all; others say vaguely inappropriate things because they are unaware of social boundaries or are bad at reading social cues; and some people simply lack sexual confidence. What they have in common is that they are all rooted in a sense of inadequacy, which as far as I can tell, is pretty much the baseline for many Irish people. Which is ridiculous as most of yis are brilliant! Ireland seems to be the only country where a healthy self-esteem is something of a liability and not hating yourself will have you branded as the worst kind of self-involved narcissist. Given this, it’s no surprise that many Irish men are terrible flirts.

I find shyness endearing, but unfortunately it is a trait that can mask other less attractive qualities as I found out when I went on a date with Adam. When he arrived I could tell that he was nervous — he was practically shaking, fidgeting and talking at breakneck speed. He gulped down his beer and then another and yet another. The booze seemed to be having a calming effect we were chatting away pleasantly, and he even gave me a compliment. It was all going well — at least until the hammer fell.

“So you’re like Jordan?” he offered.

I was confused because, to the best of my recollection, I am not anything like a middle eastern country bordering Saudi Arabia, Iraq, Syria, Israel and the Dead Sea. Then it dawned on me he meant Katie Price, which was an equally bizarre comparison seeing as I don’t pose topless, marry and divorce every few years, and am innocent in the uses of silicone, Botox, and ghostwriters.

“Have you ever read Hot Press?” I asked whilst experiencing an interesting mix of emotions, mostly incredulity and anger, which were warring it out for the top spot.

No, as it turns out, he hadn’t — he claimed not to be interested in music (red flag!) and despite telling me that he was very excited to go on a date with me, he didn’t even bother to thumb a copy at a news agent. Humph! So obviously not that excited.

First he apologised then he decided to go on the offensive because after all we both “write about sex” and like La Price I am presumably a bit of a slapper — but not enough to cuddle down with Adam, who it turned out, was an asshole masquerading as a shy guy. I grabbed my bag and headed home with a sassy “humph!” as I sashayed out the door.

Of course, most shy people are not douchecanoes under their socially awkward exterior. Most are perfectly lovely, and some I fancy, but their hesitance can be frustrating. Don’t get me wrong — I am a grown-ass lady and as such I am perfectly capable of making the first move, but gah! — what I wouldn’t do for a man with a bit of confidence!

Then again, not too much confidence. After an evening out on the town with my home girl Haley I realised that the alternative was far, far worse.

There I was, minding my own business, politely ordering a drink when, upon hearing my dulcet South African tones, a man at the bar swivelled around on his stool and launched into conversation with me.

He was, in a word, handsome — not really my type, being a sort of sub-par Ryan Reynolds with $200 haircut and carefully selected smart casual clothes from Ralph Lauren — but handsome nonetheless. Being as shallow as the next girl, if he wanted to make small talk with me, I was happy to oblige. Besides which, he was American and I was doing my bit for Ireland’s tourism industry.

Unfortunately I wasn’t the only one who thought he was attractive. He was his own biggest fan. Men, he informed me, hated him for being so gosh-darned good-looking.

“They’re jealous because they know I could have their wives or girlfriends,” he said. “I could click my fingers and any woman in this bar would come back to my hotel room.”

“Well maybe not you,” he conceded, after I cocked my eyebrows and looked at him askance. Definitely not me, and not Haley either, as we ran out of the bar laughing.

“You’ve missed your chance,” she says and we both burst into fi ts of giggles again.

Ah, handsome vain men! Give me a socially awkward average dude any day.