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    Sodium chloride and sodium bicarbonate are added to the slurry and glycerine mixture. Leah was washing dishes, when her flat mate entered the kitchen, grabbed a glass of vodka and gripped her by the neck.


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    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.

    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?

    ” What more modern way to make that most basic binary decision of whether you want to shag someone than a game of real-world "Hot or Not"?

    Social media has made us expert first-daters, well-versed in smalltalk and over-sharing with strangers.

    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.

    Sunday It's autumn, I think to myself, which means a whole new influx of American Ph D student suitors moving into my Tinder radius.

    After ten minutes of contemplating if this is the Universe's way of telling me that I‘m not compatible with any men (Mum's been saying it for years), I realign my social-media gender.

    I promptly get trigger-happy and tick "yes" to a local lad who “likes” me too. Maybe I'm being a tad picky for someone using a free hookup app?

    I keep coming back for more cheap, mindless thrills throughout the day. Online, I simply opt-in to a flirt, and if I don't respond no one gets hurt. Thursday I'm headed to Yorkshire to visit a friend for the evening and take the opportunity to spin the Tinder wheel.

    It seems northern men are better at smalltalk and far more fond of vests.

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