Until last week, I used to think only middle-aged men were having fun on dating apps. My male friends are dating women of all ages, you see, and therefore, I reasoned, have access to a wider selection of women.

I blame deep rooted societal constructs and a personal fear of being judged by everyone, including my next-door neighbour and the dog, for the fact my dating app age preferences were set to a firm 45-55 age range.

Then I had a quiet word with myself and asked: “What would Madonna do?” Then I lowered my age preferences by 15 years. Then I watched my phone explode.

With all dating apps, there’s an option to set age preferences between 18 and 60-plus. Age preferences are there to help, so as to avoid inviting anyone too old or too young into your in-box (subjective, I know).

Personally, I find going as low as 18 a bit too much, unlike a 49-year-old friend, who recently joined a dating app called Toyboy Warehouse, looking for, well, a “toyboy”. I can’t help thinking Toyboy Warehouse sounds a bit like Toys R Us or Pets at Home.

Anyway, according to her, men (pet cubs – not yet stocked at Pets at Home) as young as 20 are looking for women (cougars) aged “40 to 90”. Let me tell you, if you are ever a bit bored or have momentarily lost the will to live, have a little nose around Toyboy Warehouse for 10 minutes. EYE OPENING.

Needless to say, this is not an age-gap you want to take too far. Hearing about 20-year-old men dating 90-year-old women just feels plain wrong, as it does when you hear about 20-year-old women dating 90-year-old men. Yes, sure, we’ve all heard stories of 90-year-old men dating the occasional 20-year-old woman, possibly in LA. Thankfully I’m not in LA, I’m in London, a cultured cosmopolitan city where all I ask is to go on a date with someone kind who doesn’t get into a grump by the second course.

So yes, I recently moved the dial on my dating app age preferences from aged 45 and upwards to 30 and flirty. That’s when Louis flashed in my in-box. Louis is French. Louis is 33. Louis is unbelievably hot. Ooh là là.

Bonjour Louis, I giggled to myself. My God, when was the last time I properly giggled? It felt naughty and ridiculous in equal measure. Why on earth would Louis fancy a woman 13 years his senior, one currently wearing fleece-lined pyjamas and reading glasses?

I clicked on his profile picture. Impeccably dressed, but a man of few words and words for me, along with good grammar, are an aphrodisiac. Never mind, there were plenty of other things working in Louis’s favour, such as his athleticism and Gallic charm.

I pressed the love-heart button, meaning Louis and I would “match”, albeit digitally. It took approximately three hours for Louis to message. A lot quicker than the middle-aged older British men I’ve been in contact with, who leave it a cool 24 hours before responding. Louis immediately asked me out on a date. Apparently, this is a very millennial thing to do, a generation seemingly unencumbered by rules. Like speed dating, they like to get out there quickly and efficiently, no stone left unturned.

We meet at a coffee shop in east London. Owned by women who used to work at Vogue, it felt like being at fashion week (or being on the set of Zoolander). Seated at the back, wearing black jeans and a camel coat, I watched as the outfit drama unfolded. A woman walked in wearing a Hermès scarf wrapped around her head looking like something straight off the Paris catwalk, never mind a coffee shop in Hackney.

Too busy scanning the fashion crowd, I missed the fact Louis had plonked himself down in front of me. Then he removed his Saint Laurent sunglasses and stared at me; big brown eyes lined with jet-black eyelashes.

“Bonjour…” Hello, I replied, not wishing to embarrass myself with terrible O-level French. Our eyes locked for what felt like five seconds too long. Brown eyes staring into blue, there was an immediate chemical explosion. So, this is what chemistry feels like? I’d forgotten, it had been a while.

Walking out of the coffee shop (I couldn’t cope with any more caffeine or Zoolander moments) he took me by surprise and asked: “Would you like to go for lunch?” None of the “I’ll be in touch in a few days” avoidance I’ve become slightly inured to. Enjoying his straightforward approach, I let him take my arm and guide me to a nearby pub, also filled with well-dressed millennials.

With nothing in my diary and no children until the following day, a daytime drink felt almost as rebellious as being on a date with a man 13 years my junior. Educated and cultured with a shared passion for the arts, we talked for hours, sipping red wine. We’d met at 11am, and somehow it was now 3.30pm.

With shared custody, when I don’t have my children, 3.30pm is the most painful time of day. It’s the time I know they will be running to greet someone at the school gate, but not me. And yet there I was, holding hands with a young Frenchman in east London, feeling almost like I used to do before my life imploded.

For the past year, to wake up every day was to feel totally lost at sea. All lifeboats seemingly off duty, my safe harbour long gone, I charted towards unknown territory. Directionless in the choppiest of waters, by some miracle, I didn’t drown, and holding hands with someone new provided a temporary break in the storm. I felt alive again.

Lying in bed that night (alone since you ask), I realised the sexual chemistry between us had brought up questions never before considered: could I undress in front of someone new? Should the first time be with someone so much younger? No, I thought. I should gracefully back out. Well, either that or pull my armbands on.

The chic of it

Having had a taste of all things French this week, quite literally, I was reminded of the age-old fashion adage “French chic”. It’s true, French women are so unbelievably effortless when it comes to most things, but specifically clothes.

For starters, can we talk about their holiday wardrobes? Simple colours of usually brown, white and black, colour palettes that are matching and elegant. (Unlike us Brits who arrive en vacances with suitcases brimming with bombastic colours and mismatching prints – I love us, but you can spot us a mile away.)

Even French children are dressed way better than us Brits. There’s definitely a French “look” – simple white jeans, a white or black T-shirt, a smart jacket, little ankle boots, easy sandals, a cashmere knit and well-made leather belt.

On holiday swimwear is plain black, white dresses, sandals are flat and rustic, bags are raffia and simple. Minimal make-up, scruffy unbrushed hair. Gosh they are chic – they even wear leather trousers well!

1. Tote (£55) & Other Stories, stories.com

2. T-shirt (£23) stories.com

3. Jacket (£670) isabelmarant.com

4. Jeans (£29.99) zara.com

5. Tote (£125) arket.com

6. Wrap dress (£205) ganni.com

7. Sandals (£140) net-a-porter.com

8. Clutch bag (£125) cosstores.com

Where do they learn this stuff? 

French interiors are also a wonder. I’m not referring to the glitz and glamour of Versailles-inspired gold gilt (Donatella Versace vove over). There’s a natural simplicity when it comes to life en France.

From food and wine to things collected over years that somehow come together as though organised by a museum curator. Oil paintings, love-worn designer sofas that stand the test of time, objets d’art arranged in non-pretentious or not overly thought-out ways.

An edited life, a curation of beautiful things that enhance a sense of well-being; my goodness, where do they learn this stuff? Is it ingrained in them from birth? Do they have lessons? I vaguely remember learning how to boil an egg in home economics. I love fashion but when it comes to interiors, I need to work at it.

And work at it I have. Setting up a second home has been challenging and I’ve made expensive mistakes. One thing I’ve learned is to spend money wisely – go for design classics if you can afford them; if not, buy less and mix with the occasional bargain find. Zara Home has been a saviour, as has H&M Home. Mixed with vintage, some strategically placed candles, a smattering of something borrowed and a bunch of flowers, I’ve just about pulled it off.

My home will probably never look like I work at Vogue Paris, but thanks to YouTube and Anissa Kermiche’s “bum” vase, at least I can now “style” a shelf.

1. Cotton throw (£125) caravane.co.uk

2. Armchair (£229.99) zarahome.com

3. Bianco candle (£140) sohohome.com 

4. ‘Bum’ vase (£340) harrods.com

5. Candle (£80) selfridges.com

6. Lamp (£99.99) zarahome.com

7. Jute-blend rug (£139.99) hm.com

8. Sofa (£2,743) ligne-roset.com