Sexually, I'm More of a Switzerland Part 2

Found love yet? Console yourself with our fabulous range of fitted wardrobes-bookcases made to order, leatherbound executive chairs. Write for free catalogue to desperate salesman, 44, divorced, no access to the kids, sleeping in his mother's Astra. Box no. 0527.

Fidelity. The recognition of the supreme importance of love. Intelligence. Beauty. Sense of humour. Sincerity. An appreciation of good food. A serious interest in some art, trade or hobby. An old-fas.h.i.+oned and wholehearted acceptance of monogamy. Courage.53 Borderline obsession with receipt collecting and completely unfounded fear of calculators. Formerly Rudolph Valentinotype M (32), latterly tax evading, nervous asthmatic (47). Seeks woman not unused to hiding under the kitchen table when the doorbell rings. Box no. 2211.

I am Mr Right! You are Miss Distinct Possibility. Your parents are Mr and Mrs Obscenely Rich. Your Uncle is Mr Expert Tax Lawyer. Your cousin is Ms Spare Apartment On A Caribbean Hideaway That She Rarely Uses. Your brother is Mr Can Fix You Up A Fake Pa.s.sport For A Small Fee. Man, 51. Box no. 1407.

Let's double down on Fifth Street, split the aces on a quad and steal the brag from Napoleon before he freezes out on fourth. Rubbish poker player (M, 41) WLTM women to 45 who aren't too embarra.s.sed to play Connect Four.54 Box no. 7961.

Fame? Riches? Glamour and a lifetime of ease and comfort? I'd give it all up just to be near you. Freeloading loller (38) seeks big breasted celebrity heiress of unfeasibly large fortune (21, max, or I'm out of here). Box no. 5285.

The eighties never went away! Nor did its hair! Or its piano-key tie! Its previously untarnished track record of solvency did though. As did its trousers. And teeth. Man, 47. Less A Flock of Seagulls, more A Troubling of Goldfinches.55 Box no. 9620.

I hate you, Ray Romano. Woman, 32. One-time publis.h.i.+ng high-flier, now redundant and spending most days shouting at the TV. Would like to meet anyone with a decent array of credit cards and no prior experience of the hypnotic ways of QVC.56 Box no. 0981.

According to my records your Council Tax instalments have not been paid in accordance with the details shown on your bill. Payment of the amount now due must be made within 7 days. Legal proceedings will be commenced 14 days after the date of issue of this notice. If the Council issues a summons, application will be made to the Court for an order for costs from you. Not even love can come between me and my work, but promise you'll try. Responses should be directed to North London council worker (F, 37), box no. 0305. A delay in your response will result in you losing your right to pay future demands by instalments.57 Come fly with me.58 Man, 42, seeks undemanding tax exile in exotic far-away land (i.e., not the Isle of Man). No money in the bank, but Air Miles-a-go-go at box no. 1008.

The finest mind in the academic world conceived this ad, but it was his secretary who took two and half hours out of her day to collate his angst-ridden ramblings, phone the LRB and pay for it with her own money. He's basically looking for an affair with a twenty-something idiot tart who needs good grades. I'm looking for a better job, a decent pension package, and a man to 50 who's great in bed and doesn't make condescending comments about every d.a.m.n book I read. Man, 57. Or his secretary, 43. Box no. 1207.

Play your cards right and I'll marry you. Compulsive gambling F, 41, seeks non-judgmental M to whatever with fully functional credit cards, easily remembered pin number, and desperately poor tolerance of alcohol. Also seeking lateral thinking lawyer with track record of successful implausible embezzlement defence claims. Box no. 9876.

Does that billet doux you're writing have my box number on it (M, 42, great eyes, great prospects)? Are you sending it today? Can you enclose a 10 postal order with it-I'm a bit strapped until giro day?59 Box no. 1208.

Rich old b.u.g.g.e.rs about to peg it, write to attractive, nubile young filly. Box no. 0119.

Social parasite (M, 36, lecturer in Cla.s.sics), takes more from the community than he could ever put back. Enjoy it while it's free, I say. WLTM woman compelled to give, give, give. London, or else you pick me up and bring me back. In your own car. Using your own petrol money. Box no. 0916.

What a difference a junior suite makes! That's where you come in-F to 30 with access to husband's bank account and a shrill delight at the thought of breaking through its previously unbreachable over-draft limit over the course of a weekend fling with limber octogenarian bankrupt no longer welcome in his son-in-law's Lake District caravan. Box no. 4328.

Read the small-print before writing any cheques! Bankrupted timeshare-buying moron (41) would like to meet wealthy, blind, deaf, idiotic 96-year old woman with heart problems. Must be willing to run 20 miles a day and carry the shopping home. Box no. 0919.

And the award for Reformed Criminal Mastermind goes to box no. 0415. (Send signed blank cheques as congratulations.) In a.n.a.lects, Confucius wrote 'Man has three ways of acting wisely. First, on meditation; that is the n.o.blest. Secondly, on imitation; that is the easiest. Thirdly, on experience; that is the bitterest'.60 I'd like to add a fourth, on my patent-pending Decision Squid. Simply place the decision squid in a large water tank with each side labelled with one of the following: 'Yes', 'No', 'Maybe' and 'Decision Squid too tired to answer'. Next, jab the squid with the Question Stick and whichever side it swims to gives you your decision. Man, 36. Bankrupt and recovering alcoholic. Box no. 8785.

LRB subscribers-get six free issues and your money back if you're not entirely satisfied with Market Rasen61 l.u.s.t rac.o.o.n (M, 78)-'The most serious and radical l.u.s.t rac.o.o.n around'. Direct debit forms, and dried fruit, to box no. 8620.

Publis.h.i.+ng's Next Big Thing (October, 1998). One time author and bon viveur (M, 37) now part-time baguette filler and amateur chiropractor seeks agent who actually will call Monday62/career advisor/solvent woman with impressive stock options and low self-esteem. Box no. 9997.

"Only love is catching"

There aren't enough hours in the day for me to make love to all the women I want to make love to, so I'm going to start with you, nubile 21-year old ch.o.r.eographer and tantric ma.s.seuse, preferably French or able to adopt a French accent or not talk at all. Must know how to spoon-feed. Man, 78. Box no. 4876.

Like a lot of people, I'm uncomfortable in my own skin. Unlike a lot of people it's because I have an unidentified skin allergy that has baffled science for 47 years. Woman, 47. Itchy and baffling. Box no. 8369.

I took steroids to produce this winner of an ad. Woman, 64. Box no. 4976.

Shepherd of Love seeks F to 45 free of sc.r.a.pie, pinkeye and Caseous Lymphadenitis.63 Vet (M, 43). Little experience of human contact outside the farming communities of Pembs. Box no. 9837.

Walk a mile in another man's shoes. Mine. But only if I can borrow your trousers. And a c.u.mmerbund if you have one. Syndicated clothing enthusiast and mature student radiologist on the verge of finally graduating to the big leagues (Haversham General Hospital) WLTM woman with 42-inch waist and 30-inch inside leg, or man with size 6 brogues, or anyone with an over-active thyroid and a plaid jacket in XL. No loons. Box no. 8974.

Not all that wheezes is asthma. Laryngologist and weekend chicken-farmer (M, 61) seeks attractive F to 70 with stable blood pressure for long distance running, evening tango cla.s.ses and CPR. Box no. 8369.

Mich.e.l.le Barrow of Cla.s.s 4C: yes, astigmatism is permanent, but so is chess-genius. Unlike sports ability or hair. Who's laughing now? Not Jamie MacFarlane of Windsor Keys-While-U-Wait, that's for sure. Box no. 7863.

You'll have to speak louder than that to be heard above my tinnitus. Tinnitus-suffering woman, 40. Box no. 8631.

X-rays, blood tests, EEGs, ECGs, lung function, barium, bone density, colonoscopy. Doctors don't know what to do with me. Medical enigma (M, 33). Confounding science and all the staff at Streatham Hill Burger King since 1997. Box no. 9731.

Does anyone know what I did last summer?64 Kitsch horror-fan and recovering alcoholic (M, 52). Box no. 9722.

Last time I placed an advert in here I got a great response from a lovely man who seemed ideal (remember those letters, swapping bits of Yeats with lines from Dylan songs?). We arranged to meet at a nice restaurant south of the Thames. Unfortunately I missed the date because on the way out of my flat I popped a Kegel.65 That was almost three years ago, but after several surgical pubococcygeus restorative procedures and 30 months of contracting and relaxing and stopping mid-flow I'm finally ready for that Italian meal you promised. If you're still out there, Carl from Highbury, get in touch with Wendy, now 49 and fit enough downstairs to crack a walnut. Otherwise any man to 55 who isn't afraid of surgical knickers. Box no. 9376.

I could fit into a 42-inch waist trouser if I sucked in a little. Pathetic man, mid-eighties (GI value of typical breakfast), mid-fifties (temperature after walking upstairs), 143 (heart rate after walking upstairs), 38 (minutes before coming around after walking upstairs, and my age). WLTM patient F in a bungalow. Box no. 0295.

I got it bad and that ain't good.66 Amateur jazz singer (F, 54) seeks glockenspielist/gynaecologist for nights of atonal ramblings through both my medicine cabinet and your prescription pad. No crazies. Box no. 8632.

One day this advert will have its own entry on Wikipedia for gaining the most responses ever received. Reply now to get to the head of the queue. Hay feversuffering gymnast (M, 52). Box no. 3960.

A list of what I'm looking for in a man is displayed on the door of my fridge. You'll never see it, however, because I locked myself out of my flat at the weekend and will probably have to rent somewhere else for a while. Menopausal woman, 52. Sent my Estraderm off to Truprint67 back in January and now spend most evenings staring in despair at seven rolls of unprocessed Christmas film with no hormonal benefits whatsoever. Box no. 9361.

They said the best way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Disqualified surgeon (F, 32), a touch on the literal side maybe, seeks man for nights of complete misunderstanding. Box no. 0219.

Frankly, I don't think there's anywhere near enough salt in ready meals these days.68 Man, 37, poor kidney function. Box no. 3976.

What do you get when you fall in love? Trench foot.69 Woman, 36, seeks man to 40 who has no interest in re-enacting WWI battles and doesn't insist on making love in sewage-filled holes dug in the garden. Box no. 9271.

The rumours are true! A scintillating love monkey does read the London Review of Books and currently has an opening in his life for a delicious l.u.s.t vixen with whom to super-charge the static on his real nylon sheets. This advert is the recruitment process and, guess what, you just got the job (home-owning women or convincing TSs only, 2065, verifiable income, full credit history, no pets, no smokers, some knowledge of pulmonary medical procedures a distinct advantage). Man, 68. By reading the advert this far you agree to its terms and conditions and acknowledge it to be a legally binding contract. No loons. Box no. 8611.

This advert may well be the Cadillac of all lonely hearts adverts, but its driver is the arthritic granddad with a catalogue of driving convictions. Arthritic granddad (67) with a catalogue of driving convictions including 'Driving whilst trying to turn the dang wipers off', 'Driving whilst wondering if his urology appointment has come through', and 'Driving whilst "Hey! Isn't that where your Aunt Maude's first husband lived after the divorce came through? He's settled in Jersey now. I could never stand him-he used to do this thing with his teeth..." ' WLTM someone who knows how stop the oven from beeping. Box no. 9729.

They said I'd never dance again-they were right. Incontinent 76-year old man, needs buxom woman to spoon-feed him breakfast (and dress his leg ulcers). OK, I'm not Cary Grant, but who are you-Lana Turner? Box no. 0123.

Love me, love my fungal skin complaint. Man, 37, charmless and flaky. Box no. 0914.

Girlfriend in a coma,70 mother undergoing angioplasty, father with a bad case of s.h.i.+ngles, but there's nothing wrong with me (other than a lazy eye and hay fever). Only love is catching at box no. 1214.

"Look sideways with schadenfreude"

Ten things you should know about me. Favourite read-Querelle de Brest, Jean Genet. Favourite attribute-my eyes (hazel). Brand of cigarette-Malboro (red). Phobia-peristerophobia (look it up). Favourite walk-Lochinver to Suilven. Favourite food-M&M's (green ones). Favourite country to visit-Denmark. Allergy-men who earn less than 80k per annum. I am a woman. I am 37. I can do a weird trick with my nostrils, a ball of string and seven paper clips. Now you.71 Box no. 7626.

Ever woken up and wondered why you have that sinking feeling again? Ever stopped to think why everything seems so cold? Ever longed for the warmth of another? Ever just wanted to be able to give love and to receive a little love back? Ever married a h.o.m.os.e.xual? Well I have, buster, so save the sob-stories. Woman, 52, WLTM man to 60 willing to partic.i.p.ate in an intense program of psychometric testing including, but not limited to, a polygraph and a lengthy discussion over wallpaper samples before we commit to any sort of relations.h.i.+p. Box no. 1109.

Peel half a mango and slice into a blender. Add half a banana and some slices of apple. Add the juice of half an orange and a little ginger. Blend with ice. Smoke 17 cigarettes. Drink a bottle of gin. Cry. Phone your mother and slur incoherently down the receiver. Clean the aquarium. Steal the neighbour's bin. Get thrown out of local grocery store. Sleep under some leaves. If your days begin with the best intentions but gradually unravel, why not get yourself some psychological help from a trained professional, rather than from gorgeous, articulate F, 36, with four languages, own home, own business and a Dutch cap. Box no. 8807.

One night stands based on l.u.s.t, greed, and mutual disgust have led to some of the most fulfilling three-hour sections of my life, but now I'd like a man who knows how to read and will, eventually, come to learn the entire layout of my house. That's where you come in, LRB-reading men to 50 with good incomes, good careers, no pets and a penchant for women who know exactly the right tone of whining to get the things they want in life. Box no. 5375.

I've memorised every shortcut to Waitrose, Caversham.72 Woman, 43, just about ready to take a step up the social ladder with any reasonably-minded moneyed M to 90. An ability to know when not to speak is a distinct advantage, as are frequent-flyer Air Miles. Box no. 7511.

Whilst calming down after a heated argument involving smashed plates, thrown cutlery and insults directed at your circus side-show of a family, you should know now that I'm very unlikely to partic.i.p.ate in that 'no, really, I'm sorry, it was my fault' charade. You accept all of the blame all of the time or you grow gills to breathe in the stale, bitter soup of my angry and eternal silence. Cuddly F, 36, brown hair, green eyes, degree in geology. Box no. 2129.

When we eventually meet for dinner under the pretext of wanting to know each other better before we engage in the self-destructive s.e.x we've each been craving since our previous relations.h.i.+ps crashed against the rocks of reality (in my case, a younger, more attractive woman-in your case a stunning lack of awareness that you're not actually the most interesting person in the world), the widening of my eyes and the nodding of my head may be mistaken for me empathising with whatever ba.n.a.l and ridiculous episode of self-pity you've just launched yourself into. I'm not. I recently started wearing contact lenses to combat the 'a.n.a.l librarian' features my delightfully eloquent ex-husband so often accused me of having; they irritate my corneas. And that's no smile-it's me trying to pluck a fish rib from my teeth with my tongue. Woman, 39. No time for small-talk at box no. 6637.

Don't look back in anger,73 try condescension instead. Look sideways with schadenfreude and downward in revulsion. Serial divorcee (F, 53) has you in her sights next with a raft of sarcastic barbs and derisive statements, but a photo sent to box no. 8288 along with a list of trite achievements that I'll remain aloof and casually disdainful about should make the whole process slightly less painful by confronting the inevitable head on.

I beg to differ. Box no. 0535.

Woman, 35. Happily married until husband sponsored an African village goat in her name as a birthday gift. WLTM man to 40 for whom the phrase 'I'd really like a pair of diamond earrings' isn't meant ironically. Box no. 7333.

Spend your days looking for an alibi? She's here-35, dark-haired and smoking twenty a day. It won't save you on divorce lawyers, but it'll stop you shoplifting. Box no. 8122.

Lonely? A yearning heart? Pa.s.sion wasting away? Tell it to someone who gives a d.a.m.n. Out there/over here US academic woman, unsentimental but strong like an ox. Can break hearts as well as snap chicken necks. WLTM weak, inconsolable man who knows when he's beat (that's you, fella). Box no. 0316.

Rejection is always the hardest part of a relations.h.i.+p. So unless you're male, 3540, well-built, intelligent but not intellectually trussed-up like some unendearing Oxbridge bow-tied moneyed ponce who spent their formative years tossing about in Tuscany with an over-flowing allowance from your over-bearing parents who hated you so much they sent you to boarding school, which is where you learned to be ingratiatingly annoying and talk with a disgusting nasal drawl, save yourself the heartache and don't write to happy woman, 35, at box no. 1117.

Democracy doesn't work in a genuinely loving relations.h.i.+p. It creates emotional cholesterol-blocking the arteries of pa.s.sion with compromise and a fear of upsetting your significant other. So when you eventually complain about me whining, stamping my feet and insisting on getting my own way, really I'm just projecting my love for you and trying to protect the precious thing we have together. Woman, 46. We do things my way, or we don't do them at all. I'm only thinking of us. Yorks. Box no. 4546.

I walk the line between indifference and, meh, whatever. If you're going to write do it quickly. The OC is on in half an hour.74 Woman. Thirties. Box no. 5710.

Most partners cite the importance of having a loved one who will listen and understand them. I'm here to rubbish this theory. The more you listen to your loved one, the more you will realise they talk c.r.a.p, whine a lot, and make a lot of unreasonable demands regarding holidays together (since when is a car-ferry better than a plane, since when is a museum tour stop better than drunken evenings talking to oiled-up Italians on a beach?) I'd like to state here and now that anyone responding to this advert and winding up in an emotional (or, even better, purely s.e.xual and frequently tawdry) relations.h.i.+p with me will never be listened to at all. That way we can carry on the pretence of enjoying each other's company for many an ignorant year. No lawyers. Woman, 38. Box no. 5002.

Ball-breaking irrational F (52). Very probably just like your mother. Box no. 7911.

I'm everything you ever wanted in a woman. a.s.suming you're into fat 47-year old moody b.i.t.c.hes who really don't enjoy the mornings. Stop talking and pour the b.l.o.o.d.y marys at box no. 1908.

"Further evidence of the Banach-Tarski paradox"

I like bikes. And jam. And emergent French feminist discourse. Funky man, 51. Box no. 0559.

Labour power has only adopted the subjective conditions of necessary labour-subsistence indispensable for productive labour power. Tell that to a woman hungry for love and a free market economy. Box no. 0121.

The pin number for my credit card is 1917, my Facebook pa.s.sword is Trotsky, my hotmail secret question is 'Who replaced Julie Christie in the sequel to A for Andromeda, The Andromeda Breakthrough?' Camp, revolutionary social networking retro sci-fi geek (M, 43) WLTM similar for evenings dissecting Marx, the finer sub plots of s.p.a.ce: 1999 and the chagrin bag holding lurkers of I Will Go Slightly Out Of My Way To Step On That Crunchy Looking Leaf.75 Wilts. No pervs. Box no. 8630.

I don't make cereal for anyone else. No Frills76 biophysicist (learn the lingo and win my heart) WLTM dangerous tank-top wearing chemist for nights amongst the Petridishes and breakfast in the allergy lab (F, 35). Box no. 9703.

World's worst univocalic personal ad writer.77 Male. 43. Box no. 9711.

Changes in fas.h.i.+on are only subordinate aspects of change. Trust me-I shop at Primark.78 Off-the-peg feminist, darling of the red-dot sales: one size fits all but make it a delicate wash, and iron on reverse side only. WLTM baggy-fleeced male reader with some knowledge of continental sizes. Box no. 0523.

This advert is further evidence of the Banach-Tarski paradox.79 Equidecomposable man, 43, currently existing in two subsets of Euclidean s.p.a.ce. Cut this ad up and rea.s.semble it into two of exactly the same idiocy. Not quite worked out yet how to talk to a woman without her 'going to make a phone call' and subsequently making her escape through the bathroom window. Would appreciate theorems and schematics explaining why. Box no. 6951.

This advert is my entry to the LRB's young person essay writing contest. I won't win it, however, because it is far too clever by half and also because I'm 62. Man, 62. Far too clever by half. Box no. 8887.

What are the chances? 1 in 216, as Richard de Fournival astutely explained in De vetula, written between 1220 and 1250.80 I don't expect you to know that, however, because you're an idiot. Maths professor, 58, not afraid of being absolutely right at box no. 7765.

I'm not Edith Wharton, but then this isn't the Riviera. Get real in Brighton with grey bombsh.e.l.l of the amus.e.m.e.nt arcades (43). Men with pa.s.sion for Frogger, Donkey Kong and Antonin Artaud write to box no. 9702.81 I went to university to learn how to write ads like this. Woman, 32. Box no. 4429.

What you gonna do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk?82 I'm gonna get a PhD in Social Sciences and spend Sat.u.r.day nights alone in Oxted. Desperate woman, 34, all too aware of the misery caused by poor decision-making processes but more than willing to share it with men who don't have high s.e.xual expectations and enjoy any female company that isn't their mother (which, I'm guessing, pretty much covers most of the male readers.h.i.+p of this magazine). Box no. 8820.

March 1993. I was the third member of the Ricketts Family on Family Fortunes (related by marriage, now divorced). Name a vegetable you would serve with a Sunday roast. I said b.u.t.ternut Squash, sliced and gently cooked in olive oil, but the survey of one hundred of Britain's dullest peasant yokels didn't. I may not have been able to share a brand new Polo hatchback with the nation's most barbarous and uncultured family, but I think I made my point. Who's laughing now, Les Dennis?83 Man, 38, lecturer at UCL. Box no. 2213.

Apparently the Three Symmedians aren't a novelty Bosnian folk troupe.84 Rubbish mathematician (M, 37). Box no. 2695.

Woman keen to get a birthday card from significant other this year (it's in August, you've got plenty of time) WLTM Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniztype man to 50 just to be on the safe side.85 Box no. 5257.

The Necker cube of personal ads86-are you viewing from above or below? Irritating amateur psychologist (M, 52) seeks woman with brain suitable for home-made experiments. Half-full/half-empty relations.h.i.+p and psychometric tests a-plenty at box no. 5447.

Not only will this advert win me the woman of my dreams (25, tall, brunette, fun, likes late nights, computer games and Pop Tarts), it also wins me a place at the grownups' table. Errant son, 18, swapping Dad's Hustler87 subscription for this c.r.a.p for the last two years. Box no. 0530.

These are my skills: I can swim five lengths, I know karate (I used to be a yellow belt), I can roll my eyelids back, I can do an impression of Wally from Crossroads,88 I can run really fast when I'm being chased, I can make awesome tracks on my Casio keyboard, I was in a shop in Croydon once and there was a gap in one of the dressing room curtains and you could see in and Christine Rowley was inside trying some stuff on and I saw one of her b.o.o.bs. Man, 38. Senior Philosophy lecturer. Box no. 9920.

The Schrodinger's cat of personal ads.89 Box no. 3611.

The original C&A man.90 One day polyester will return, and then I will rule you all. Princess in peachy nylon twist needed to sit beside throne of lecturer in comparative studies, 37, London. Box no. 7997.

An inspired calligrapher can create pages of beauty using stick ink, quill, brush, pick-axe, buzz saw, or even strawberry jam. Pangrams91 of delight, but the worst s.e.x you've ever had with dumpy kibitzer (M, 41) jingling as exchequer overflows at box no. 9791.

This personal advert completely debunks Hooke's Law of elasticity.92 This, and other laws of physics turned upside down (did you know light doesn't travel in waves, but in packs?) by amateur dentist (M, 38). Box no. 7267.

I was born to write this advert. Biologist M, 43. 15 years spent researching necrotizing fasciitis (fasciitis necroticans)93 would really, really, really like a girlfriend. Box no. 7543.

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