Moving house found me stranded for the briefest moment at the personals section of Craig's List earlier, and on reading the romantic dope filled contents of the smallest of samples over there, I wished I was in London so that I too was appropriately situated to respond to (or even, perhaps, place) personal ads in the London Review Of Books*. To borrow from LRB's "Manual of Style To Personals", mine would perhaps read:

"Late-20s-and-on-the-verge-of-a-30s -mid-life-crisis Craig's List escapee, hobbling along the by-ways of come-hither cyber-ia, flatulent on foetry, sliding towards pathos, jacked up on Jenna Jameson, and on the lookout for a tropedoed-on-the-way- to-sunset-with-the-tall-dark-and-handsome-man lass, who can at least articulate all the letters of the alphabet as she plays his trumpet tonight."