Last week on the Paris Metro I had a marvellous boost. I’d been feeling wretched after a flaming row with my boyfriend on the station platform when a charming man tipped me a wink and chivalrously offered me his seat which I gratefully accepted. My eyes sparkled and my pulse quickened. Suddenly the day seemed so much brighter.

I can’t remember the last time I saw this happen in London on the Tube. Timid British men have become so terrified of a cruel rebuttal many have given up on gallantry altogether. As for chivalry, what’s that?

Britain is fast becoming a flirtation-free zone, political correctness having knocked this harmless pastime into touch. Many legislators would like to ban it altogether. Only last month two builders in Hertfordshire were suspended from work for wolf-whistling, while Wimpey banned brickies from this innocuous pursuit in 2008. A friend was recently sacked from his job as a photographer when he complimented an attractive employee on her outfit. He’ll never chat up a girl at work again.

I dread the thought of being single. What are the chances of ever dating again in a country where the art of flirtation has all but withered away?

Well, at least he’s trying....

British men excuse themselves by saying that if women want equal rights they lose the right to be treated differently from men. But women don’t even have equal rights; most are still not paid the same as men for doing identical work. The gap between how much male and female managers are paid has widened by £500 to £10,546 in the past year alone. Female managers are now paid an average £31,895 per year, compared with £42,441 for men doing the same job, according to the Chartered Management Institute. The CMI said it would take 98 years to gain parity at current rates. Crikey!

So women are still underpaid, still do the bulk of childcare and housework, and now even our femininity is ignored. Somehow we have ended up with the worst of all worlds.

But we still live longer, so it’s not all bad news.

It’s no surprise British women have such a loose reputation abroad. We are so starved of masculine interest we’ve no resistance to the smooth patter of continental Lotharios. Bellissima, they murmur as champagne is poured and hair is stroked, and our knickers just fall off.

Who can blame us? What’s the British equivalent? "Get your tits out?"

Some of the blame for the flirting crisis must fall on British women. I have seen women cruelly repel gallantry – refusing seats, ignoring doors being opened for them, and even snarling as they send back champagne in restaurants. British men are hesitant and won’t persevere if they are knocked back.

The ladette culture of the 90’s has had a disastrous affect on the respect men have for women. While we have gained the equal right to riot, brawl and vomit in the street what we have lost is priceless.

I recently had a terrifying glimpse of the flirting abyss at the Green Party conference in Blackpool. I had to give a quick filmed interview which was to be posted on YouTube.

Fortunately Tristan, the interviewer, made it all very easy. After the job was done we happily chatted away. I said I hoped he’d give me a few pointers and improve my terrible telly technique.

I thought him pleasant enough but felt no frisson because he claimed to be an atheist (how can he be so sure? Give me a lapsed Catholic any day of the week) and he didn’t help me carry my suitcase which I was lugging around with me. Lack of chivalry is incredibly unattractive.

But because British men can’t tell the difference between being friendly and flirting, he thought I was trying to pick him up and began calling and leaving messages.

When he sent me his footage I was disappointed. I had dressed for comfort in many layers of bulging Michelin man thermal clothing as Blackpool is freezing. While my extremities were frozen my face was strangely moist. My speech was tortured and earnest. It was unbearable.

`Don’t worry about it’, he reassured me. `You don’t have to be good-looking to be in politics. Look at John Prescott’. (Bloody cheek!) `By the way’, he continued, `I have a spare ticket to a Bob Dylan concert with me this Saturday, would you like to come?’

I don’t think so!

How I wish Mr Telly had taken a few tips in flirting from Paris Metro Man. With technique like that no wonder singletons must rely increasingly on dodgy internet dating sites.

This dismal state of affairs (excuse the pun) is reflected in a survey taken by online dating service Parship.co.uk.

Of the 5,000 polled, only a feeble 16% of UK singletons have the courage to make the first move, compared to Europe’s most confident flirters, the Austrians (34% of whom would make the first move), and followed by 30% of Spanish and 27% of Germans.

This must mean, according to controversial new book Erotic Capital (which asserts that flirtation is the quickest way of getting ahead), that Brits are missing out on a trick.

Interestingly, plumbers are the top flirts, 26% claiming to be perfectly happy to make the first move. Plumbers have got it made though, I can’t think of many women who don’t salivate at the thought of a hulking man on his knees, wrestling with their blocked U bend. Indeed, it was my boyfriend’s facility with his snake (a marvellous implement that magically unblocks lavatories) made me fall in love with him on the spot. But I digress.

Some ladies relish the lack of attention. I have Indian, Argentinean and Italian girlfriends who love coming to the UK for a rest. But sometimes it is lovely to be bothered a bit, which is why it’s good to hang out on the Continent for a boost.

Although happily engaged, I still flirt on occasion. It’s just good manners and doesn’t mean you want to leap into bed with whoever you’re flirting with. British men find it all a bit bewildering, and yet Europeans similarly see flirting as routine good manners.

I enjoy a regular eyelash flutter with the Frenchman who runs a cheese stall at our farmers market. I am just being polite but there is a happy side effect of being given extra cheese and hidden samples usually saved for fellow cheese-eating surrender-monkeys which he stashes away under his stall. While he is charming, I don’t fancy him as he has a beard and quite thin legs, but you don’t have to fancy someone to flirt with them.

The British lady who runs the tea stall is rarely at her post, as she’s usually too busy stalking Cheese Guy, who isn’t interested. In the UK there is indifference and stalking – but not much in between. I long to give her a copy of retro dating bible The Rules, but it is really none of my business.

Unfortunately many British women, fed up with being ignored, become too strident in showing their interest. It’s a vicious circle, women make the moves, the men, although flattered are secretly repelled, feeling their hunter-gatherer instincts are being thwarted.

It may be considered naughty to flirt when you have a boyfriend, but I beg to differ. As Howard Jacobson pointed out in his roman a clef No More Mr Nice Guy, it is essential to make men jealous. They need to feel that with you they’ve got a catch, and that other men are slathering at the bit and leaping out of bushes every time you pop out to the shops. This will keep them happily tethered and gratefully performing small manly tasks around the home without getting cross.

Ever since Mr Telly’s curious advances, my innamorato insists on driving me to dull political events as he assumes every man is after me. This is not the case, but I am not going to disillusion him as I don’t drive and it’s nice to be ferried about, even if it is in his belching old white van.

He also leaps to answer my phone and to check text messages. This is convenient as I hate answering my phone.

Although I am not good at flirting, I do think it’s important to keep practicing. It’s only good manners.

After all flirting, like the bumble bee, may disappear for good unless we all make an effort to save it.

This article first appeared in The Spectator http://www.spectator.co.uk/essays/7238823/the-worlds-worst-flirts.thtml