For the past few months I have been a research machine. And I don't mean some crappy little 1990s robot thing from Toys R Us, I'm talking about some powerful Hollywood Transformers shit here. I have researched my sizeable arse off.

I've spoken to people from all parts of the romance fraud 'community' - academics, historians, organisation leaders, private investigators, police, banks, documentary makers, dating sites and tech companies, not to mention whizzing round the country to talk to the incredibly brave scam victims who have shared their stories with me. Oh, and last week I actually spoke to a scammer himself (cocky little bastard that he was). I've also ploughed my way through research papers, psychological reports and news articles, not to mention a pile of statistics that will haunt me for at least 15 years.

It's been fascinating and frustrating, sad and surprising, and left me feeling helpful and helpless in equal measure.

I've had planning meetings with my lovely editor Fiona where I've exclaimed that I hate everything I've ever done, I have no talent and I'm of no use to man nor beast. Fortunately Fiona is clearly very experienced at dealing with people having overly-dramatic strops because I soon snapped out of it and decided to just crack on and stop being such a silly sausage (or a 'massive twat' as my friend described me when I told him).

All of this does mean though that the moment has finally come. It is time, ladies and gentlemen, to write this book...

AAAAAARRRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH