They Call Me Naughty Lola

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New book out is a compilation from the personal ads in the London Review of Books. When the column first began accepting ads, this was the very first one received:

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"67-year-old disaffiliated flâneur jacked up on Viagra on the lookout for contortionist who plays the trumpet."

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They just get weirder after that.

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Dinner's on me. Gap-toothed F, 32. WLTM man to 35 with permanent supply of Wet Ones. Box no. 7364.

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You're a brunette, 6', long legs, 25-30, intelligent, articulate and drop-dead gorgeous. I, on the other hand, am 4'10", have the looks of Hervé Villechaize and carry an odour of wheat. No returns and no refunds at box no. 3321.

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Most vegetarians complain about missing the taste of bacon. Not me, I complain about my liver disease. And rural postal services. Man, 40. Box no. 3143.

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Me? I'm a prolific shut-in with poor circulation and an obsession with cleavage seeking three mute Asian girls who can cook and pay my bills.