I'm not often given to browsing the personal ads on random websites. No, really. But I was told that the personals on the London Review Of Books website are nothing short of genius, and indeed that is the case. They're personal ads as they should be done! Frank. Honest. Disturbing. Here's a few of my favourites:
This town isn’t big enough for the both of us. Failed urban planner. M, 48. Didsbury. Box no. 20/04.
I got it bad and that ain’t good. Amateur jazz singer (F, 54) seeks glockenspielist/gynocologist for nights of atonal ramblings through both my medicine cabinet and your prescription pad. No crazies. Box no. 20/05.
Safety first. Dignity second. Trousers last. Rubbish wok-cooked foods enthusiast and flammable materials-wearing loon (M) WLTM F to 45 with fire-blanket and no small amount of knowledge regarding the correct batter-frying procedures of tempura. Bicester. Box no. 20/06.
Let’s wipe the slate clean. Lacklustre, melancholic and depressive rock-climbing PhD (M, 29) unable to get a foothold in anything seeks woman with those funny metal things that stab into crevices and stop you from plummeting to a certain death. Or something. Box no. 20/07.
Consult the spirits to measure our compatibility:
YES NO
ABCDEFGHIJKLM
NOPQRSTUVWXYZ
Goodbye Box no. 20/09.
At first I was sceptical about writing this ad but slowly the idea won me over. Box no. 20/10.
Love? My eyes will tell you all. My forehead, however, is slightly more reticent. My knees won’t give you a damn word. Paranoid military nutcase and part-time undertaker seeks F to 50. Box no. 20/11.
