Tinder isn't a dating app, it's the Yellow Pages for ego-boosting one-night-stands.

Tinder uses your existing social networking data from Facebook to locate people in the immediate vicinity, tell you a bit about them, whether you have any friends in common and (most importantly) show you a pic.

It has slimmed down the emotional, cognitive and financial investment required by the virtual dating process to one simple question: “Do I want to do you?

On closer inspection, his pics are all selfies, which screams "I’m vain and don’t have any friends to take pics of me.” Another cutie introduces himself with a coy "heyyy" (words are stretched out on Tinder, for some reason – "How are you? ") but I note his height in comparison to his friends in group shots. Tuesday My sociopathic curiosity and appetite for constant validation are fuelled by Tinder's addictive swipe function.

I start consuming hundreds of profiles on boring journeys or in queues for a slow barista.

The quick follow-though from swipe to sex is similarly instinctive for a generation with an appetite for immediacy.

Monday Turns out I've been signed up to Facebook as male, so Tinder is only matching me with women.

Tinder totally complements my lazy and attention-seeking personality. It usually takes me a few drinks to start talking to strangers but, thanks to my i Phone, I'm now virtu-flirting while I wee.

It's as compulsive as moodboarding baking projects on Pinterest: swipe, scroll, drool, click, reload. Wednesday The localised aspect of the app hits me tonight – at my local. I don't even need to leave my sofa to flirt, let alone risk liver damage in pursuit of enough Dutch courage to politely humour a clinger for 45 minutes.

Met online flirten ben je eigenlijk tot niets verplicht en het kan daarnaast ook nog eens helemaal anoniem, waardoor je gelijk ook een stuk vrijer zal zijn en juist wat meer zou durven flirten dan je normaal gesproken zou doen.