I Kissed A Girl And I Liked It. Then I Went To Hell.

"Are you single?"

It's the question I ought to have asked approximately seventy percent of my dates in the last year, along with "Do you know who the father is?" for the other thirty. Yet, we've only just met, she offers me a drink, and asks.

"Why?"

And so it begins. It may be a sign of increasing desperation that I attended Ontroerend Goed's Internal because it has been compared to speed dating. We are in a booth, somewhere in The Arches. Since I have spent the past year delicately threading the same story into as many performances as possible, slathering my reviews in poetic anguish and persuading playback companies to enact scenes from my life, I have my part rehearsed even if the performer is improvising.

Internal was the Traverse's hit of the Fringe, and has now arrived in Glasgow. Five performers, five audience members. A curtain is pulled back, and the two groups face one another. A beautiful woman takes me by the hand, and into a corner. This is the way to get a five star review. Rhymes With Purple, on the other hand, water-boarded me.

We sat and chatted for a while. I told her my secrets, forgetting to mention that I was a critic. When we rejoined the rest of the group, she said that I was unassuming. She added that I was "technically single". Then one of the other performers took her top off and baited her date. "This is what you wanted to see, isn't it?" I think it was just after that when my date leaned across and kissed me. Finally, they danced with us, before disappearing behind the curtain.

Internal isn't typical theatre: it might have caused consternation for critics attempting to fit it into a star-rating system, but it does share a very contemporary preoccupation with intimate performance that rejects the normal gap between actors and audience. Not having been kissed on the lips for over a year now, this is less a surprising piece of theatre than a welcome social experience. It also reminded me why I stopped dating. Moments of awkwardness, forcing myself to answer in ways that are expected rather than sincere, clinging to the hope of being liked for myself while doing my best to keep my true self locked up. No wonder I gratefully fall into relationships at the first sign of encouragement.

Equally, I am always pleased to give away my secrets. My fascination with myself is boundless, and certainly exceeds the patience of my friends, so I leap at opportunties like this. I told her about my romantic odyssey, using Jane Austen as a guide to manners, the virtues of waiting, the awkward meetings and the silent longing. I noticed how I held back certain details. Internal sets out to perform the function that I seek in theatre: it becomes a mirror of the audience.

Ontroerend Groed are cleverly inverting the usual paradigm, where the performers seek approval. When, at the end of the show, she tells me that she hopes I have enough courage to follow my awfully big adventure, I am delighted at her interest and support. Being subjected to a close interrogation in a dark corner made me feel a little more sympathy with my previous dates. I also strolled around The Arches, grinning and humming Katy Perry.

Next stop, The Tron for Drumhead.