It has been another week of unsettling developments, what with Bono making an appearance at the Tory party conference, England losing 0-1 in Ukraine, Susan Boyle unleashing her cover of the Rolling Stones classic Wild Horses on the world and another Jennifer Aniston romantic comedy hitting the silver screen. But by far the most distressing revelation, for me, has been the news that the phrase “date night” has entered the English relationship lexicon.

Until now it was an Americanism, something that neurotic Californian couples did in an attempt to revive their flagging marriages, and the title of an as-yet-unreleased Hollywood movie starring Steve Carell and Tina Fey, in which “a married couple in a rut decide to venture into the Big Apple to spice things up”, no doubt with absolutely hilarious results. But, according to the journalist Tessa Williams, writing in this newspaper, “date night” is now a reality for many British couples, too.

Apparently, long-term couples who want to keep their partnership “fizzing with excitement” are holding hands in the street instead of sitting in glum silence in front of MasterChef, are ostentatiously feeding one another spaghetti in gastropubs when they would normally be quarrelling about whose turn it is to load the dishwasher, and are attempting lively “jokes and conversation” in public places rather than leaving passive-aggressive notes for each other on sideboards and refrigerators. And I’d like to object to the development in the strongest possible terms.

Surely the main attraction of a relationship, some would say the only attraction, is to escape the torment, agony and artificiality of dating. Of all the things Americans have given us — Paris Hilton, stretch limos, steakhouses, Kanye West, Scientology, an inferiority complex — this codified social ritual is by far the worst. For decades British men and women were perfectly happy finding spouses by “going out to the pub together to see if they got on”, “getting hammered and pouncing on the person who looks least able to resist” and “snogging their mate’s mate”. But now finding a partner has become a process akin to a job interview, and the idea of incorporating such self-consciousness into a relationship when you have finally ensnared someone and no longer need to is absurd. It’s like travelling to a climate change conference in a private jet, or dabbling in crack cocaine while in rehab.

The second problem with “date night” is that it doesn’t involve dating in recognisable form. The couples doing it seem to have forgotten what it is like being single and don’t seem to realise that you can’t detach the positives of dating — the flirtation; the attraction; the snogging; the brief respite from loneliness — from the many negatives any more than you can take the melancholy out of a Scott Walker track, or the whingeing from a Michael Winner restaurant review. Indeed, the only way the phenomenon of “date night” could possibly become acceptable would be if couples did it an authentic way. How might they do this? Well, among other things, on date night you would need to ...

A. Spend several hours getting all dolled up, applying lipstick, painting fingernails and/or plucking nasal hair, removing the furr from the edge of ears, only to notice halfway through the date that your flies have been open all night and/or a bogey has been hanging from your nose, which is why the object of your affection has been sitting at right angles and resolutely failed to respond to your sexual innuendoes and contrived attempts at flirtation.

B. Choose a restaurant that you cannot possibly afford and, on arriving, pick food that you would normally never eat (because you can’t risk choosing anything messy), then leave most of it on the plate (because you don’t want to look greedy) and, while picking mournfully at the remnants, recount a series of stories that are self-deprecating but still carry vital nuggets of flattering information about yourself, only to realise halfway through one anecdote that you have already told it, but with different embellishments, then, registering the sneer opposite, pop off to loo to smack head against hand basin.

C. Avoid any conversation that may involve revealing true thoughts and feelings about: party politics; race and immigration; the European Union; artificial insemination; your exes; your sexual frustration; your biological clock; your unemployment and poverty; your desperate desire to have kids; your desperate desire not to have kids; your sexual predilections; the question of whether your parents love your siblings more than they love you; the question of whether romance and fidelity are possible in this cynical world of ours.

Recommended date-night subjects: your surroundings; couples on other tables; the diversity of your musical taste; how you like going out but at the same time also enjoy quiet nights with a DVD and a glass of red wine.

D. Look utterly unfazed and unhorrified and remain totally unresponsive when your date remarks: “I picked Pizza Express because they have a really good value two-for-one deal on at the moment”; “This is where I came on my first date with an ex”; “This is where an ex dumped me”; “My gastroenterologist has suggested that I avoid cheese for a while”; “Could you excuse me a minute? My mother gets cross if I don’t call every 30 minutes”; “I can’t afford this”; “Would you care to join me in a Carpenters singalong?”; “I’ve seen Susan Boyle play about ten times now”; “Jennifer Aniston is a very underrated actress”; “I still can’t believe you agreed to come out with me”; “You know, no one has ever really landed on the Moon”; “You know, it wasn’t al-Qaeda who brought down the twin towers”; “Have you read The Secret by Rhonda Byrne? It collates wisdom from oral traditions, literature, religions and philosophies throughout the centuries and I believe anyone can access its power to bring themselves health, wealth and happiness.”

Then, if you have survived the strain of pretending to enjoy something that you would normally never do, the pressure of concealing your true personality and dysfunctions, the stress of looking keen but not too keen, the stretch of being flirty without being pervy, the challenge of appreciating your partner’s appearance without sounding lecherous, the torment of revealing things about yourself without giving too much away, the agony of faking interest in your dates’ pointless jabber about their relationship with the human resources director at work and or/the merits of the BMW 5 Series Touring, and the general pain of appearing more cheerful and carefree and wealthier and happier and less embittered than you actually are, it is of course essential to conclude your date night by contracting an STD.

Sathnam@thetimes.co.uk

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