My life changed tack unexpectedly one night at a trying Cape Town dinner party. I’d managed to get stuck talking to the hostess’s mom, whose job it invariably is to tell everyone how amazing her daughter is, then to say vomit-inducing things like, “She has such a demanding job, runs this house and still manages to throw a fantastic dinner party! I don’t know how she does it!”

My usual retort is something along the lines of: “She is sleeping with her boss, has a cleaner and brought the caterers in.” Somehow this never goes down too well…

But this particular mom seemed to be more interested in me. Maybe because I was so fetchingly attired in pink and yellow, with a sad-looking stiletto clutched in one hand… That’s what happens when you forget to buy electricity and have to get dressed in the dark, only to run late, trip and break a heel.

She enquired about where I lived, about my relationship status and what I did for a living. Instead of stuffing my face with chips and mumbling, “Excuse me, I think I hear St Peter calling my name,” I blurted out, “I’m so bored with life!” She went on to say, “You’re 28, aren’t you? People your age often feel that way; you’re probably about to make a big change.”

The most immediate change I had in mind was to escape this freakishly observant mom before she started guessing my weight, but her statement stuck. Maybe it was time to make a change: I’d dated all the available (and unavailable) men in town and had started asking people if it was legal to date my second cousin. Or was it third? All my friends were married and attending antenatal classes. I was single and attending yoga classes.

The Problem: Where Could I Go?

I’d done the London thing. I had loved America until official-looking passport people asked me to leave before they were forced to arrest me. I’d travelled through Europe and Africa, but an aversion to covering myself up made Dubai a less-than-appealing option.

The obvious answer was Joburg. A city with lots of people. Single people. A place where there are opportunities, often of the male variety, and where anonymity is still an option. Still, it took three trips to the Big Smoke before I booked a one-way flight.

The first attempt was a road trip with my girlfriends, who were nice enough to entertain me for 1400km. On arrival, I realised I had no place to stay, so we did a U-turn and drove straight back to Cape Town.

The second time around, I convinced a friend I was the housemate of her dreams and secured a great apartment in the heart of Singledom: Sandton. I lasted a few days, then heard about a party I couldn’t stand to miss and flew home. Mid-bar-dance, I bumped into an ex, who shouted in my ear, “So, hey, I, like, thought you had, like, moved to Jozi?”

Behind him, I could see another of my exes dribbling drunkenly down some 18-year-old’s top, and that’s when it hit home: I had moved to Joburg. So why did I keep coming back to the city I’d been so determined to leave? More importantly, when was Dad going to check his credit card statement and realise he’d been paying for all my air tickets? Both revelations prompted the third, final, one-way trip to the city I now call home.

The Highs and Lows...

It’s been 10 months and, without killing an already-dead phrase, it’s been a roller-coaster ride of highs and lows. When your immediate family lives a few thousand kilometres away and your best friend is too busy changing nappies to answer your five thousand calls a day, you have to suck it up and start afresh.

At first, the security guard at our apartment complex was my best friend and the cleaner my confidante. But after a few months, I took the plunge and put myself out there. One day I met a girl who was both beautiful and intelligent, which is why I immediately added her to my mental list of people to ignore. She said, “We must do lunch sometime.” I heard: “We may have exchanged names and numbers, but you and I will never giggle over a glass of Chenin Drunk unless I’ve poisoned it. Oh, and stay away from my boyfriend.”

When my phone rang the next day and said intelligent and beautiful person asked, “Are you free for lunch today? I’m bringing my friend Matt; he’s perfect for you,” I knew I wasn’t just living in a city that was made for me – I was home.

Nicky No Mates?

Stop phoning your phone to see if it’s working – do something about it. Here’s how to make friends and influence people

1. Attend everything you’re invited too. Your right to be selective was lost with your luggage.

2. Don’t fixate on what’s happening in your old city. Trust me, nothing is. That’s why you left.

3. Join a club of some sort, whether it be running or books. Try to stay away from activist types – it may send the wrong message.

4. Be good to your colleagues. These people know people who know people you want to know. Be nice. Even if the receptionist gives you the hairy eyeball when you say hello.

5. Host something, like a dinner party (order in if you have to), or organise a night out – even a weekend away. If no one accepts, question your personal hygiene habits.

6. If someone says, “Let’s do something soon,” call their bluff and phone them. Just remember, there’s a fine line between socialising and stalking. I always get that one wrong.

Who is Baglett?

She’s a 20-something single girl who doesn’t take life too seriously and tries to find the funny in everyday things. Baglett is her pseudonym, firstly because it keeps people guessing and, secondly, because it provides the “fly on the wall” dream of being at a table where people are talking about her and have no idea she’s sitting opposite them. She’s also able to hide behind the name with the excuse: “It wasn’t me, it was Baglett.” Read her blog at www.baglett.blogspot.com.