He watches hungrily as an incongruously glamorous hen party walks past us. "I think I'm going to go chance my arm here. Sure, no harm, no foul." He lumbers off after his unsuspecting prey.

It's 1am on Saturday morning in Lisdoonvarna and the pub is the centre of activity for the first night of the annual matchmaker festival, which is taking over the tiny Clare town from this weekend until 7 October. Amorous (read: on the pull) singles and happily-married couples converge on Lisdoonvarna's 15 bars.

It's a strange place. Less than 10 minutes after I arrive here early on Friday afternoon, I get my first proposition from a man who stops me in the middle of the main street.

"Would you like to come for a drink with me?" asks Carl, a bachelor in his late 50s from Limerick.

When I suggest it's a bit early in the afternoon to be hitting the bar, he persists undeterred. By the time I break away, five minutes later, I've inexplicably promised him a dance at the hotel later. He's easily old enough to be my father.

But in Lisdoonvarna, the normal rules of dating don't apply. It is not only assumed that anyone on their own is on the lookout for a partner, but it is accepted. The atmosphere is like that of a teenage disco . . . simmering with anticipation and only slightly less hormone-fuelled.

As there don't seem to be any official events on in the town yet, I use the time to take a trip out to the home of Willie Daly, the renowned local matchmaker, who will be working his magic on hopeful singletons later on in the festival.

"It can be very difficult to meet people nowadays, " the fourth-generation matchmaker explains.

"There's six or seven men for every one women out here so there's a lot of competition.

"Women's needs have changed.

They're more independent, they have higher expectations. But men still just want someone who's going to be like their mother . . . good around the house and who'll show them lots of love."

Back in the town, a crowd is beginning to gather at the Hydro Hotel. In the disco, the one-man-band is playing 'Spanish Lace', as four or five middle-aged couples waltz sweetly across the big dance floor. There are small groups of women sitting at side-tables, watching the dancers.

"There's a big difference between the younger crowd and the older crowd, " says Albert Lawlor from Limerick. He should know . . . he's been coming to the festival for the past 36 years with his wife Cecily.

"The younger people want sex almost immediately, but with the older crowd here, it's more about enjoying the dancing and meeting up with people you'll only see once a year."

"It can be a bit overpowering when you walk in, " says Mandy Cooke from Drumree. "You know the men are all looking you up and down. But that's nothing, the whole thing is brilliant."

Marcus White, from the White's Hotel Group, is one of the organisers of the festival, which brings in over 1.2 million to the small town every year.

"Marriages don't happen overnight, but we do have a good success rate, " he says.

Back in the packed Matchmaker pub on the main street, the crowd is younger. Men outnumber women two to one, and you can almost smell the testosterone. "Put your hands in the airrrrrrr, " bellows the guitarist of the band as the opening chords of 'Daydream Believer' fill the packed room. The crowd on the dance floor happily obliges.

A man clad in what looks like a brown suede suit and with slickedback balding hair cuts in on two pretty girls in their 20s on the dance floor. As the crowd around them half-waltzes, half-sways, he inexplicably launches into the dance for Whigfield's 'Saturday Night'. The girls stare at him. He continues.

They make a face and turn their back on him. Dejected, he Saturday Nights his way off the dance floor.

A balding ginger man walks hesitatingly over to the petite blonde woman in her 50s standing beside him.

"Hello."

"Hello."

He visibly swallows.

"Would you like to dance to this song with me?"

"I would, yes."

He helps her find a table to put her drink on and leads her to the dance floor. They're still there when I leave.

Outside the bar, a fellow called 'Scatman' tells me I'm a "lovelylooking thing" after first checking to see if I'm wearing a wedding ring.

We're interrupted by Carl, my earlier propositioner.

"You said you'd give me that dance, so you did, " he grumbles, looking suspiciously at Scatman.

By 2am, I'm exhausted and head home.

Later in the morning, the main street is almost deserted. Little wonder . . . there were still large groups of people singing, laughing and occasionally fighting on the street at 4am. But dancing is due to start again at 12 noon at the town spa.

A couple make their way down the main street for an early stroll. As they get closer, I recognise Carl from the previous night. He's with one of the women I saw in the Hydro watching the dancing. He winks as I pass. "I found someone else to dance with, " he says. His friend blushes, and they walk off hand in hand.