Jan. 2nd, 2008

“Man. Older than 12 and not really a banker.”

Happy New Year!
We know nobody reads the copy, but for the rest of you nobodies, we present a few amusing personals from The London Review of Books. Enjoy.

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 timer from beeping.
box no. 01/01

I vacillate wildly between a number of archetypes including, but not limited to, Muriel Spark witticism-trading doyenne, Mariella Frostrup charismatic socialite, brooding, intense Marianne Faithful visionary, and kleptomaniac Germaine Greer amateur upholsterer and ladies’ league darts champion. Woman, 43. Everything I just said was a lie. Apart from the bit about darts. And kleptomania. Great tits though.
box no. 01/02

Don’t listen to your inner voice in matters of the heart! Especially if your inner voice tells you to check his outgoing message box for evidence of a wife or ask why he always needs to be on the last train to Stafford instead of just staying the night. It’s a simple rule, but it’s a rule that will give us many happy – if somewhat tawdry –experiences together. Man, 38. Not in the slightest bit married. Remember that.
box no. 01/05

I stole the contents of this ad
from a highly successful banker (M, 53, annual income £500k + benefits) currently appearing on Match.com. It’s funny because we honestly couldn’t be more different. Unless I was a woman. Or 12. Man. Older than 12 and not really a banker.
box no. 01/06

You’d have thought that this magazine would be fertile ground for the acquisition of cocktail 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 basement. 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.
box no. 01/07

To the guy with the wild grey hair and thin pony tail and bow-tie and white socks and chewed copy of Rimbaud and the lisp and excessive spittle and over-use of the word ‘platitudes’ and faint odour of taco meat who will no doubt reply to this advert much like he’s replied to every other advert I’ve ever placed in here: ‘eccentric’ is only a favourable adjective when it’s wrapped in an attractive package or earns over £200,000 a year and owns a holiday retreat in Tuscany. Other LRB-reading men should also note this. Replies from ‘normals’ or the stupidly rich only please to woman, 45, currently down to 37 seconds on her ‘tolerance of idiots’ metre.
box no. 01/08

My last husband was a loser. If you’re not a loser, please reply. Woman, 40. Incredibly simple criteria.
box no. 01/09

Thanks to Jon Carroll for the tip.


  • Jan. 2nd, 2008

    “Man. Older than 12 and not really a banker.”

    Bookmarked your post over at Blog Bookmarker.com!

  • Rensak
    Jan. 3rd, 2008

    Ha! these things are brilliant! Have you read They Call Me Naughty Lola by David Rose? It’s an anthology of LRB personals. Sheer bloodyt genius!!! Thanks for the post!

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