"They call me naughty Lola. Run-of-the-mill beardy physicist (M, 46)."
"My only academic achievement was contaminating the water supply in class 2C by sneezing over the beaker tray. It caused the biggest outbreak of conjunctivitis ever known at Sutton Primary. I wasn't sorry then and I'm not sorry now. Bitter PR exec. (F, 34) WLTM man to 40 who enjoys living on the edge (of Putney). Box no. 8370."
"Don't send me any poems. Woman, 34. Fed up of getting poems. Box no. 4253."
"You are going to be alone this Christmas. That's because nobody likes you. I, however, will provide you with a basic meal and some pleasant company on the understanding that you do not criticise my collection of antique medical implements. Tidy man, 51. Size 9 slipper. Box no. 7314."
"Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth. Box no. 7652."
--from They Call Me Naughty Lola: Personal Ads from The London Review of Books