Sexually, I'm More of a Switzerland Part 4

World of the Strange! LRB reader (F, then 36) places personal advert in 2001 for man to 40 who loves literature, the arts and cycling in Italy. She receives no responses whatsoever but duly notes over the course of the next five years the number of male advertisers to 40 appearing in the same publication who enjoy literature, the arts and cycling in Italy (there were 13 of them). Is the reason they didn't reply to her advert because they were blind to her outrageous beauty or because she lived in a house in which an old soldier had died upon returning from the Great War in 1918 and had subsequently cursed all future inhabitants, preventing them from ever being happy (this same curse also prevents inhabitants of the house from being able to make omelettes or perform basic house ch.o.r.es such as washing dishes and opening utility bills)? F, now 41, believes it to be the latter and WLTM M to 45 with some knowledge of exorcism rituals, direct debits and the best place for bulk paper plate purchases. Box no. 4784.

You like walking barefoot on cold beaches in the winter, movies that make you cry and baking cookies that you have no intention of eating. I like defending my home against the government forces that are trying to destroy me and knitting carpet samples from fibre remnants found in the back of the dryers at my local launderette. Are we fools to think it could ever work? Moron and amateur carpet sample enthusiast (M, 35). Box no. 5331.

When the authorities eventually remove this covert recording device from my brain, they'll be able to download not only the most profound musings on the universe ever conceived by man but also possibly the whereabouts of my car keys. Until then paranoid amateur tailor (M, 37, Warwickshire) remains unable to take these cross-st.i.tch manuals back to the library. The chirps and whistles aren't getting any quieter, and the fines aren't getting any smaller, but this dog-fur suit is sewing up a storm at box no. 4476. That's not revulsion you're feeling right now-it's pa.s.sion (or possibly it is revulsion).

Consult the spirits to measure our compatibility: This personal advert contains more than one hypnotic suggestion. Box no. 7637.

Superheroes of BMX-join me (fortean beast-hunter, M, 34) in my quest for the Cannock Crocodile and help me make Staffordshire as safe a place for geese as ever there was. Or else just hold me and stroke my hair.111 Box no. 4324.

Two heads are better than one! Amateur geneticist and dancing fool (M, 48 and two months) seeks woman to 46 willing to sign an affidavit promising not to reveal the secrets of patent-pending Mind Splicing Machine to the scientific community at large. Own ap.r.o.n, gloves and machine that makes whizzy noises a distinct advantage. Box no. 6790.

When the Antmen unite, all will be their slaves. Man, 46, WLTM woman to 50 for whom this opening line works as a proem to s.e.x. Box no. 6222.

By reading this advert you have unwittingly become the latest in my mind experiments in which I persuade the subject to believe I'm a 6'1", sandy blonde Abercrombie & Fitch model112 with the world at my feet and a lifetime of excitement ahead of me. Man, 57. 6'1", sandy blonde Abercrombie & Fitch model with the world at my feet and a lifetime of excitement ahead of me. Worthing. Box no. 9117.

The only name listed under my old school on Friends Reunited is mine. That's because I was taught at home in an isolated farmhouse, far from the shrieking hordes of bird-men that mummy said circled the town, and where I learned how to write by tracing the letters of Dean Friedman113 lyrics. You'd be welcome in my home anytime (M, 41) but don't tell mummy that you want to leave. Box no. 6338.

My favourite Thundercat was Cheetara, and that's the way I see you: hand-activated bo-staff, accurate-though limited-application of a psychic sixth sense and fastest of the clowder.114 Idiot man, 34. Box no. 9844.

Forward this personal ad to ten friends. Otherwise bad luck will befall you. Poison pen lady (32, Staffs). Box no. 4675.

Are you planning on crossing the road after reading this? Beware-spy cameras on distant satellites watch your every move, looking for changing heat patterns on the tarmac. Join my campaign to bring back telephoto-resistant cobbles at box no. 0416. (Man, 38.) I intend to keep the precise contents of this personal ad secret. Box no. 5722.

As it happens, 11.34am two weeks next Friday is the first day of the rest of my life. Nuclear physicist (M, 40) on the brink of time-travelling break-through. Write now to box no. 9859 but be aware that by the time I reply you will be 98 whereas I will have aged just twelve hours. You may have a good-looking grand-daughter by then though. Give her my number and tell her to look me up.

Watch out! Not all sausage rolls are free of eavesdropping microchips. Be safe by rubbing all shop-bought pastries with a strong magnet. Then write to Oxford hick (F), thirties, at box no. 0560.

I used to watch a lot of TV. Now I just sit in my chair and watch the lights come through the keyhole and make crazy, crazy patterns on the wall. M UFO abductee WLT re-establish contact with the others (esp. 'Jenny'). Box no. 2385.

"Forty years ago I was going to marry Elvis"

Catterick Ladies' Circle. I don't want to meet on Tuesday mornings anymore. I don't want to take the dictation for Kate's obituary notice in the paper. I don't want to start the Christmas lights pet.i.tion. I really don't like golf-I don't understand it and all that waiting around hurts my knees. I don't want my photograph taken with you all for the local paper, celebrating our 'fun walk' for the blind. I don't want a video intercom installed to 'make me feel more secure'-it's not really like the Bronx here just yet. I know all about the benefits of a high fibre diet-please don't make me listen to the man from the well-woman clinic giving a talk about it. I'm glad that the grandchildren never visit; they smell and have terrible manners. I know you all mean well-but I want to behave inappropriately with a man half my age and be the rumour that opens the meeting I'll be absent from next Tuesday morning. Box no. 6901.

When love eludes you, try provincial living! Gorgeous, ersatz fem (34) living the self-sufficiency dream seeks strong-armed, bold man to 40 to make only positive comments about her needlepoint work and help churn the b.u.t.ter daily. Must have working knowledge of calf-birthing procedures. Box no. 9761.

If a break-up to you means spending most lunchtimes crying over chicken skewers at All Bar One115 then join me, big-boned F (37), and we can share a World Tapas bundle dish and save ourselves a fortune. Afterwards we can make love, but not before the chocolate fondant dessert. I can be found at the Henrietta Street branch, Wednesdays between 12 and 2, requesting fries with my hoi sin duck quesadilla. Box no. 4290.

One day I'll edit this magazine. Then maybe I'll be able to get my direct debit cancelled. Until then I'll take whatever I can get (F, 34). Box no. 1299.

Forty years ago I was going to marry Elvis-at 56 my expectations are lower. The least you could do is try to meet them. If you're over 4'10", it's a start. Box no. 1210.

No beards. F, 38. Box no. 6956.

Does anyone read these ads? Apart from my mother, I mean? If so, write to beautiful, vivacious, intelligent Jewish F (34) who won't spend every dinner comparing you to her ex-boyfriend. I make no such guarantees about my mother though (hi, mum). Box no. 2511.

Newly divorced man, 46, looking for a woman to 50 who doesn't conclude s.e.xual intercourse with Queen Katherine's rebuke to Cardinal Wolsey.116 Box no. 6531.

Hazlewood seeks Sinatra; Presley seeks Ann-Margret; Kristofferson seeks Coolidge; Chiswick Jackie Chan seeks any sort of unmusical, vague, ambiguous, shoehorned love interest of no particular narrative consequence. Help me make it through the chorus only at box no. 1717.117 I wish they all could be Californian,118 but basically anyone within the M25 will do. Man, 43. No criteria beyond the limits of the London Underground network. Oh, and a D-cup. Box no. 1009.

My last husband was a loser. If you're not a loser please reply. Woman, 40. Incredibly simple criteria. Box no. 4356.

I've written every advert that's ever appeared in this column, but I've written them with tears. And pain. And sometimes Tizer. And Quavers.119 And, last week, baked beans crushed onto the end of a comb. Woman, 32, WLTM man with collection of working pens. Functional p.e.n.i.s also a distinct advantage. Box no. 6886.

This is positively your last chance to find love. Unless they place this ad somewhere in the middle of the column. Box no. 0526.

When replying to this ad, please specify which type of beverage I should excessively consume before we meet. Woman, 46. Far too used to the standard of LRB-reading men this column throws up yet now p.r.o.ne to migraines caused by red wine where red wine used to make self-hating first date s.e.x so much more bearable. Baileys-types are a definite no-no (I get a yeast reaction to dairy).120 Box no. 6792.

My ideal man is King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden.121 But as long as you don't leave the door open during toilet moments and adopt the so-called 'eco-friendly' maxim 'if it's yellow, let it mellow' then you'll do. Historian F, 37. Has long since learned not to expect much from this column, but would like a guy who flushes. Box no. 2231.

There comes a point in most intellectual women's lives when they realise that, as attractive and intelligent as they may be, the LRB is not the place to find an energetic, cultured, good-looking man. h.e.l.l, it's not even the place to find a guy who doesn't begin his conversations with 'the biopsy revealed nothing-but I swear there's something not right down there'. This advert, therefore, is less a last ditch attempt to be proven wrong, and more a 'so long, suckers' to all the other women still reading this column when they could dumb down to the Guardian Soulmates and taste long-forgotten fruit. Come on in, girls, the water's lovely-even if the water's full of spelling mistakes, author interviews that no-one gives a c.r.a.p about, and stuff lifted from the previous night's Evening Standard.122 Box no. 8810.

LRB on-line RPG123 nerds: you are the most wretched group of bores to exist on G.o.d's good earth. Never reply to me. Never, never, never. Previously affable, now largely intolerant and recently divorced woman (34) WLTM a bloke my age who doesn't spend 15 hours a day pretending he's a heroic blacksmith killing stuff in some other-dimensional village resembling Cottingley, West Yorkshire, circa 1902. Talk to me, not Olaf the Destroyer, at box no. 3633.

Newly divorced man, 38, WLTM woman to 40 whose heroes don't include Leslie Cole, Bill 'd.i.n.k' Hewit, Roger Martinez, Peter Jaconelli, Dave Man or William Corfield.124 Northumbria. Box no. 6362.

My last date resulting from an ad in this column didn't turn up because he'd been rushed to hospital having mixed two industrial cleaners whilst mopping his kitchen floor. Thanks for nothing, LRB and Cillit Bang.125 Women with tales of dating woe more agonising than this please write to box no. 8753. I've given up on s.e.x and now just need words of rea.s.surance.

You'd have thought that this magazine would be fertile ground for the acquisition of c.o.c.ktail party banter and intellectual snippets to chew over while sipping martinis. But I've been to LRB bookshop subscriber nights and can promise you it's not. Woman, 37, consuming all the free chardonnay by the poetry section in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Bring your discount card, and an opening line that doesn't involve Ross McKibbin's latest piece, and I'll almost certainly sleep with you.126 Box no. 7699.

Getting laid through Match.com127 isn't as easy as the adverts make it out to be. I'm hoping for better pickings from this column. Woman, 87. Box no. 5444.

Obwohl sie eine erfolgreiche Investment-Bankerin war, war sie unzufrieden mit ihrem Leben. Irgendetwas fehlte. Sie versuchte all diese Stimmungen, Gedanken und Mythen die als Schranke zum Gluck im Leben und in Beziehungen stehen, zu konfrontieren. Erfolg war definiert durch Geld, den perfekten Ehemann und Erfolg im Beruf. Und trotzdem, fragte sie sich, wer ist schon durch und durch glucklich? Alle Leute, die das alles erreicht haben, sind die wirklich glucklich? Ziemlich ahrscheinlich, aber immer noch gesucht: ein Partner (M bis 50) in den LRB ads. Soviel zur Sucht nach Bestrafung. Nicht zu erwahnen mein lebenslanges Elend. Na los, streng dich an. Box no. 0942.128

"A 1:128 working scale model of the Karak.u.msky Ca.n.a.l"

In April 1982, a golfer129 at the City Park West Munic.i.p.al Golf Course in New Orleans was killed after he threw his golf club against a golf cart in frustration. The club snapped and the bottom half of the club rebounded and stabbed him in the throat. This wasn't the thing that killed the golfer, however. He was killed when he pulled the club head from his neck, thereby increasing the blood flow and loss from his jugular vein. This, and many more golfing tales, from unemployed after-dinner speaker and part-time pastry chef (M, 58). Box no. 9651.

I composed this advert on the anniversary of the first performance of Das Rheingold for a very good reason.130 Man, 59. Box no. 7011.

My lunch is my life. Amateur griddle chef (M, 51). Box no. 5689.

3 June, 1844. 12 December, 1878. 1 December, 1900. 28 December, 1907. 1 September, 1914. 21 February, 1918. 26 September, 1955. 18 June, 1987. 3 June, 1957. All days on which various species of bird became extinct.131 Apart from the last one-that's my birthday! Man. Box no. 9611.

There is only one recorded instance of an elephant being sentenced to death by hanging. It was Mary, a circus elephant, in Erwin, Tennessee, September 1916.132 At the first attempt, the chain placed around her neck snapped under the poor beast's great weight, but the second try was all too successful. Woman, currently researching animal public executions, seeks man to 40 for nights of gentle sobbing and repeating the words 'why, G.o.d, why?' while shaking clenched fists at the ceiling. Must have own car. Box no. 6900.

6.10am, January 19, 1977. Snow falls for the first time on West Palm Beach. The snow spreads to Fort Lauderdale by 8.30am, continuing south to Miami and Homestead. At Crandon Park Zoo, heat lamps are brought in to protect the iguanas. True story. Man (35) incapable of making any point whatsoever would like to meet woman to 40 for nights of awkward smiles and sentences that peter off in the middle. Box no. 5991.

In February next year I will begin work in my garden on a 1:128 working scale model of the Karak.u.msky Ca.n.a.l, which stretches 1,200km from Haun-Khan to Ashkhabad, Turkmenistan. It irrigates a course of 800km and is the largest in the world. Now make love to me. Man, 53. Kettering.133 Box no. 5889.

Marry me and I will grant you access to the finest collection of mounted albino tiger barbs this side of Gloucester. Osteopath and weekend taxidermist (M, 43). Box no. 4801.

I hope you're sitting down while reading because this advert might just excite your socks off! Man, 37. Box no. 7695.

The only thing missing in this column is an amphibious car expert who specialises in insurance and reinsurance consultancy. Man, 45. Amphibious car expert specialising in insurance and reinsurance consultancy. Box no. 6011.

A friend once bought me a pair of novelty underpants that had a caption on the front reading 'In case of fire break gla.s.s'. I didn't understand what it meant until they did actually catch fire in the tumble dryer because they were acrylic and I had the setting on too high. The door melted shut and sure enough I had to break the gla.s.s to put the fire out. Replacement dryers are very expensive. As such I would like to meet a nice woman who won't set fire to my underpants. Stupid, stupid man, 51. Box no. 8050.

I'd like to dedicate this advert to Phil Fondacaro.134 Box no. 4222.

When Diana Rigg was in The Avengers I liked it.135 But when Diana Rigg wasn't in The Avengers I didn't like it. I like Diana Rigg. Are you Diana Rigg? Please write. Box no. 4377.

I am the only valid reason to visit St Albans. Ambidextrous psychiatrist and amateur fire-eater (F, 37).136 Box no. 5483.

Nepenthes rajah.137 It's an insectivorous pitcher plant species with an urn-shaped trap so large it has been observed digesting rats and other mammalian species. I find it a continual source of inspiration and the single most impressive organism on the planet. Woman, 34, WLTM man to 40. Kent. Box no. 5993.

"A time capsule of despair"

Man, 41. Will you marry me? Anybody? Box no. 8976.

They say the pram in the hallway is the enemy of art. Not true. Astaroth, Threshold Guardian of the Infernal Plane138 is the enemy of art. Join me in my battle to rid this world of his Satanic intent by sending care-home vouchers to his long-suffering daughter and one-time sculpturing genius, 37, box no. 9361.

When I inevitably read this ad again in a 'laugh-out loud' follow-up volume of 'hilarious', 'quirky' and 'endearing' lonely hearts ads, it will be like opening a time capsule of despair on the emptiest period of my pathetic existence. Unless you write now and agree to marry me. No pressure from 'winning', 'charming', 'best loo-read' F, 38.139 Box no. 8563.

Herring-bone Artex.140 It could be yours. But you'd also have to take gorgeous, nubile, 30-year old Eng Lit postgrad. Also woodchip wallpaper from 1972 and a grandmother who refuses to go into care. Box no. 9730.

LRB readers! You are all invited to my wedding. One lucky guest will also be picked to be my groom. Dress is smart/casual and hymn sheets will be provided by desperate, clutching F (41 and not getting any younger, or thinner, or more fertile) at box no. 2457.

Short-changed by the pie-vendor of love. Hamstrung on the pitch of reason. Man, 34, stuck in the lower divisions of pa.s.sion, where the players are always part-time, and the action (blundered, chaotic and often resulting in injury) is only every second Sunday. Urgently needs woman with good shin-pads, half-time oranges and experience of serial playoff disappointment. Must be embittered by years of following Dagenham & Redbridge.141 No seats on my terrace at box no. 1012.

Agerum, Alvine, Lng, Delikat, Dralla, Fgelbo, Igge, Ordning, Utgrd. Gentleman to 50 familiar with the simple poetry of Ikea, and no stranger to flat-pack a.s.sembly, urgently sought by woman currently living in a tee-pee in her own living room. Putting together my Noresund is no guarantee of s.e.x but it does put you a long way up the waiting list. Box no. 9073.

Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Malteser! Be the sweetie worth ploughing my way through love's harshest Revel's bag for.142 Man, 36. Box no. 8361.

Wanted: rich, deaf and blind woman to take my irascible old fart of a father off my hands. Must like the Telegraph.143 Box no. 9470.

Beard. Have one? Want one? Box no. 1315.

This column is not a great place for meeting like-minded people. It is the Third Bolgia of the Eighth Circle of h.e.l.l for lonely literary types. Woman, 46, finally ready to stare defeat in the face after three ads and 41 responses from goblin perverts.144 Box no. 2220.

Your Christmas bookings now taken! Pathetic man, 37. Box no. 9641.

mys.p.a.ce.com/ mantellinghimselfheisnotyetoverthehill whenreallyheis or box no. 8743.

Stare at the back of your hand for 30 seconds. Now stare at this advert for 15 seconds whilst squinting your eyes. Now fully open your eyes and stare at the back of your hand for another 30 seconds. Advert. And again at your hand. Now stare at your mother. Back of your hand. Advert. Hand. Advert. Mother. Mother. Hand. Mother. Wall. Feet. Now wipe the tears away. Back at the hand. Advert. Hand. Mother. Man, 43. Hand. Advert. Mother. Hand. Hand. Hand. Box no. 8936. Mother.

Word to yo moms-I came to drop bombs. I got more rhymes than the bible's got psalms.145 Cla.s.sics lecturer (M, 62). To some I'm possibly the single most embarra.s.sing person at any social gathering. To others I'm fly-er than the zipper on yo pants. 4reals. Laters. Or something. Please make love to me. Box no. 9749.

1996 was the best year of my life. 2003 wasn't too bad either. If you can figure out a pattern I'll marry you. Dentist and evening Lars Ulrich146 fantasist. 54. Male. Box no. 9709.

I met all my previous lovers at Costco (I only needed one, but came away with thirty). That changes right here, right now, with a call to all men to 45 allergic to generic vodka brands and bulk purchase pastries. It's cash only, and you must show your membership card upon entry (parking strictly limited to two hours, one trolley per customer during peak hours). Box no. 1553.

"Hubris made me pen this ad"

If partaking of the grape too eagerly after a messy break-up has taught me anything, it's that answer-phone messages are admissible in divorce courts as evidence of 'unreasonable behaviour'. But if you're a 3545 year old guy who knows when a lady needs s.p.a.ce and is able to take threats of physical a.s.sault and arson in the humorous, ironically edgy way in which they're intended, then write to beautiful, vivacious, newly-medicated F, 38. Box no. 0784.

My winning streak in this column is about to come to an abrupt halt with the placing of this ad. Man. 38. Box no. 3499.

Ordinarily I shun all things pertaining to the nefarious world of dating-personal ads, matchmaking agencies, over-zealous friends who 'know someone perfect'. But right now I'm unemployed, alcoholic, medicated and haven't had my bones jumped for a year. Hit me up. Woman, 37. Box no. 7799.

Hubris made me pen this ad. You will answer, of course, but only ironically. Man, once great and 23, now alone and 51. Box no. 0420.

Serial personal advertiser (Man, 33)-ninth time lucky? Probably not. Here's to another 14.80. Box no. 5029.

Less Chicken Soup for the Soul,147 more Lobster Bisque for the Glutes-rejected self-help manual author and fitness instructor (M, 38) seeks in-shape F to 40 for evenings constructing publishable t.i.tbits on overcoming depression, enhancing the strength of a weakened pelvic floor,148 and questionable sh.e.l.l-fish aphrodisia. Must enjoy light bondage. Box no. 8721.

IT savant (M, 37) unexceptional in most things but blessed with uncanny ability to remember every wrong ever done to him and to bring them all up on the very rare occasions he's invited to the pub after work. WLTM woman to 40 who preferably doesn't speak English, is very bad at interpreting facial gestures and to whom a clenched fist snapping pens in half doesn't mean a promotion at work has once again pa.s.sed me by and gone to the least qualified member of staff but is a sign of glorious victory in the power struggle against my tyrannous employers and their idiot ways. Viva La Revolucion! Then pa.s.s me my beta-blockers at Box no. 0889.

When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade-instead squeeze it into the face of your cheating a.r.s.e of a husband then cut the legs off every pair of trousers he owns. Sensitive F, 45. Ready to move on and begin her life a-fresh with man willing to provide time-sheets and supporting doc.u.mentary evidence for every minute of his time out of the house. Box no. 9078.

This personal ad is the product of an entire evening spent eating acid.149 Man, 63. Box no. 1211.

Safety first. Dignity second. Trousers last. Rubbish wokcooked 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.150 Bicester. Box no. 3299.

My life is an endless h.e.l.l of Little Britain quotes, rugby shirts worn with the collars turned up in a non-ironic way, England flags attached to every car window, holidays to Whitby, two-minute s.e.x, golf anecdotes, boxed wine, b.u.mping into 'Bob from the office' in the frozen food aisle at Safeway as he fills his trolley with bulk purchases of Findus Crispy Pancakes, self-a.s.sembly bookcases staying in their cardboard boxes in the corner of the kitchen for six months, disposable tongue sc.r.a.pers, did I say two-minute s.e.x, the 'art house film' he had in mind being The Da Vinci Code, discount CDs called 'Dance Anthems Vol. 13' bought from gas stations, punctuated only by self-loathing and impotent dreams of revenge that I wish I had the energy to manifest into reality. Woman, 34, seeks man/divorce lawyer/a.s.sa.s.sin to explore possibilities, payment plans, poetry.151 Box no. 1198.

Fear. Alienation. Irrational hatred. Compulsive teeth-brushing. If only I'd read the reverse of my ex-wife's business card before jumping into bed with her and signing away a decade of happiness and my house in Surrey. You can write if you like, but I'm going to have to ask for the phone numbers of at least two past employers and five previous lovers. Box no. 8908.