Author: Personal ad Page 2

Your stars for today: A pretty Cancerian, 35, will cook you a lovely meal, caress your hair softly, then squeeze every damn penny from your adulterous bank account before slashing the tires of your Beamer. Let that serve as a warning. Now then, risotto?

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Attention male London Review of Books readers: 'Greetings, earthling – I have come to infest your puny body with legions of my spawn' is no way to begin a reply. Female, 36 – suspicious of any men declaring themselves to be in possession of a 'great sense of humor.'

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List your ten favourite albums… I just want to know if there's anything worth keeping when we finally break up. Practical, forward thinking man, 35.

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They call me Naughty Lola. Run of the mill beardy physicist – male, 46.

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Mature gentleman, 62, aged well, noble grey looks, fit and active, sound mind and unfazed by the fickle demands of modern society seeks… damn it, I have to pee again.

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SEE WHAT HAPPENS, 22 yr old white male, 6’4”, 190 lbs, janitorial master, once cleaned 3 bathrooms in 20 minutes! Seeks 19 to 32 yr old female. Box 30940.

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Easygoing athletic SJM, 41, seeking SF, looks not important, must be tall, slim and attractive.

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Bastard. Complete and utter. Whatever you do, don't reply – you'll only regret it.

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Are you Kate Bush?’ Write to obsessive man (36). Note, people who aren't Kate Bush need not respond.

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Ploughing the loneliest furrow. Nineteen personal ads and counting. Only one reply. It was my mother telling me not to forget the bread on my way home from B&Q. Man, 51.

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Wanted: Hard working, experienced farm woman. Household and field work; know how to cook; must own tracter –- send photo of tractor.

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I celebrated my fortieth birthday last week by cataloguing my collection of bird feeders. Next year I'm hoping for sexual intercourse. And a cake. Join my invite mailing list at box no. 6831. Man

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Unashamed triumphalist male for the past 46 years. Will I bore you? Probably. Do I care? Probably not.

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My ideal woman is a man. Sorry, mother.

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Blah blah, whatever. Indifferent woman. Go ahead and write. Box ### Like I care.

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Love is strange – wait 'til you see my feet. F, 34, wide-fitting Scholl's.

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They call me Mr Boombastic. You can call me Monty. My real name, however, is Quentin. But only Mother uses that. And Nanny. Monty is fine, though. Anything but Peg Leg (Shrewsbury Prep, 1956, 'Please don't make me do cross-country, sir'). Box no. 0473.

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You're a brunette, 6', long legs, 25-30, intelligent, articulate and drop-dead gorgeous. I, on the other hand, am 4'10", have the looks of Herve Villechaize and carry an odor of wheat. No returns and no refunds at box…

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My other car is a bike. Eco-friendly bio-diverse M (29). Smells a bit like soil and eats too much soup, but otherwise friendly (you're not seriously going to put that burger in your mouth, are you?).

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Save it. Anything you've got to say can be said to my lawyer. But if you're not my ex-wife, why not write to box no. 5377? I enjoy vodka, canasta, evenings in, and cold, cold revenge.

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