The pursuit of love is eternal and often frustrating, but the Clare village famous for its bachelor fair offers hope at the turning of every summer

Over the next six weeks, Lisdoonvarna will swing to the sound of dancing feet and dubious chat-up lines. There will be waltzing and jiving and quickstepping from noon to 4 a.m., for the entire duration of the now legendary matchmaking festival. Love will be made by the cupid friendly crowds and drink, as they say, will be taken.

But on a sunny Monday afternoon in the Co Clare village this week, the place was like a ghost town and a quest for love greeted with the infectious chuckle that everyone in these parts seem to possess: "Are you desperate, or wha?" was the question on the lips of the bemused locals.

I had brought my mother, Ann, to Lisdoonvarna to see if the ancient art of matchmaking could unearth the man of her dreams. She, a cultured, intelligent, attractive woman, is not desperate, it should be pointed out. What she is, is up for a laugh. Which was just as well because for the next two days that was mostly what we did.

The first part of our quest took us towards Ennistymon to the house of third-generation matchmaker Willie Daly. The bearded love-broker was standing outside in the sunshine wearing shorts fashioned from cut-off slacks teamed with a pair of brown sandals. "You always bring such fine looking women to me," he told the taxi-driver. This guy, we agreed, was good.

Willie's success rate is pretty impressive and we were glad to hear he had a couple of potential suitors in mind. "Now, he's a lovely man," he said of one. "But to tell you the truth not the best-looking fella in the world."

"Sure, personality is more important," said Ann, who is after a man with intelligence and a sense of humour. "Ah, yes, but his personality isn't that great either," Willie replied.

Another fellow, he said, had a great sense of humour, "well, he's funny in a visual kind of way". Did Willie think he could find a match for Ann? "Most definitely," he said giving my mother a friendly pinch. "Irish men love something to hould." We arranged to meet Willie in the Matchmaker bar later, but for the rest of the afternoon we took matters into our own hands.

The Roadside Tavern, run by the charming if thoroughly married Peter Curtin, seemed a good place to start. I began by telling the barman Billy that my mother was looking for a man. When he had stopped snickering, he suggested we consider a fellow called James, who was due in any minute. Unfortunately, James turned out to be about 103, with a hearing aid and walking difficulties. This wasn't going too well.

Peter was more helpful. "You have to be subtle," he said. "You can't just go around saying your mother is looking for a man. You will scare them off. Let them come to her."

Which is how we met Pat. He'd been working all day and was a little worse for wear. For various reasons (the local accent, the pints perhaps) Ann couldn't understand a word he said but over time and a platter of locally smoked salmon, it emerged that (a) he was a bachelor looking for a wife and (b) he could cook anything except bread. "I can cook anything," he said. "But I can't cook bread. Can you cook bread?"

Pat smiled approvingly when Ann nodded. "I like you. I'd say you're not the angry type," he told her.

Ann asked whether he had any references. "You ask anyone about Pat and they will tell you I'm all right," he said. Which was fine, except just then a man walked past and called him Jimmy. "Ah, well, you see, it's actually my brother who is called Pat," explained Jimmy/Pat, looking suitably contrite. "But will ye meet me for dinner in the Ritz tomorrow at one o'clock? I will have a shave."

All right, so he wasn't Brad Pitt, but Ann had secured a date (which she didn't keep - sorry Jimmy/Pat) and we were feeling optimistic as we went to meet Willie Daly in the Matchmaker. He has an office there, just inside the door.

That night, the bar was empty except for an Australian coach driver, Seán, and a young barman, David. The appointed time to meet Willie came and went. "What could be worse than being stood up by a matchmaker?" wondered David.

In fairness to Willie Daly, he hadn't been able to come because he was attending a removal. To make up for it, he came to the Hydro Hotel the next morning. There was a man, he said, who might just suit. So off we went through the mist and drizzle to Doolin.

This man, let's call him Pádraig, was shy Willy had warned. So shy was he, that when arranging an assignation point Pádraig had stressed to Ann that it was vital nobody saw him with her. He limped up to meet us outside the pub. "Something came up. I have to see a man about the kettle. I'll see you in the Hydro at nine tonight," he said. We eventually figured out he didn't mean kettle, he meant cattle. Back to the hotel.

I was relaxing before dinner at Sheedy's restaurant - book early and often if you want to dine finely during the festival - when Ann rang me from the room next door. The man had cancelled the date. "Another commitment, can't meet you," Mr Kettle said. "Fine, goodbye," said Ann. Not surprisingly she was more relieved than peeved.

The matchmaker, when he heard, was apologetic. In a last ditch attempt, Willie arranged a blind date with Tommy Maher, a true gentleman and farmer. But, in the end, there was only one man Ann found even vaguely attractive in Lisdoonvarna. What could be worse than falling for the matchmaker? Answers on a dance card please.

The Lisdoonvarna Match Making Festival runs from Saturday until October 6th. Willie Daly can be contacted on 065 707 1385