So here it is: my exclusive booksblog report on Sam Jordison's singles party/launch party for his latest opus, Bad Dates.

And naturally, the question on everyone's chapped lips is: did I get lucky? Since the answer to that is a pretty straightforward "No", we'll move swiftly on to the other big question: did the event live up to its billing as the worst singles party of all time? To which the answer is a resounding - Yes. Let me explain.

I arrived at the party and met Sam, who seemed genuinely happy to have me there and is even better looking in the flesh than in his legendary blog picture. I was decked out in the green I'd promised you all that I'd wear; unfortunately, everybody else had decided to wear what appeared to be a uniform of matte black, which was later explained to me by a fellow northerner as "just Londoners being dull". Even worse, almost everyone there was sporting a shiny red "unavailable" sticker. Worse yet, it became increasingly obvious that I was by far the youngest there - until I a pretty, young-looking girl started chatting to me, which was flattering right up to the point at which I realised she was on work experience, hawking books for Sam's publishers. So persuasive was she that I found myself buying two, but I cheered up when a contributor told me his stories, one of which involved poo in a sock - honestly, the book's worth buying just for that.

I realised that an unbelievably attractive blonde called Helen was also with the publishers when her second line was, "So, have you bought a book yet?" Still, we continued chatting, which was lucky as I learnt that her home village near Northampton has the longest viaduct in the world: a whole 82 spans. Did you know that? Me neither. Unfortunately Helen and her co-publishers weren't able to buy me extra drinks after the (extremely generous) tab behind the bar ran out, even when I threatened to abuse my new-found position of power to write a scathing review. And it was right after this point that the singles party aspect of the evening became particularly miserable.

I'd thought it couldn't get worse than everyone else in the room except a couple of the publishers sporting a red sticker. I was wrong. The feat was achieved by my meeting perhaps the only other person there wearing a green sticker - who turned out to be someone whom I'd dated briefly long ago in my cruel, heartless youth and treated appallingly. (If you're reading, I'M SO SORRY.) A singles party cliche? I think so. The situation was further enlivened when my now-ex, whom at the time I'd ditched the datee for, showed up. End result: I'm at a "singles party" full of couples and the only other two singletons in the room are people I've already dumped. My ex started sobbing about boyfriend problems and left. I nipped to the loo, and when I came out the datee had rather pointedly left, too. It was then that I bought yet another book, got Sam very kindly to sign them all, and left the Official Worst Singles Party Of All Time.

And the book? If the anecdotes I heard from the many varied and interesting contributors, and the snippets I've seen while flicking through the book itself are anything to go by, it's well worth the surprisingly low cover price: hell, I bought three copies. It looks funky, too, and is definitely something to put prominently at the front of any self-respecting bookcase.