Looking for a bit of humour? Look no further than your local paper’s “lonely hearts ads” . The London Review of Books has brough together a hilarious, unique and eccentric collection of some of the best ads actually printed in the local UK media in a new book entitled “They Call Me Naughty Lola.”
Beginning with the now famous ad which inspired the book’s title, here’s a sampling of the delightful and somewhat bizzare collection:
‘I’ve divorced better men than you’
‘They call me naughty Lola. Run-of-the-mill beardy physicist (M, 46).’
‘I’ve divorced better men than you. And worn more expensive shoes than these. So don’t think placing this ad is the biggest comedown I’ve ever had to make. Sensitive F, 34.’
‘List your ten favourite albums… I just want to know if there’s anything worth keeping when we finally break up. Practical, forward thinking man, 35.’
‘Employed in publishing? Me too. Stay the hell away. Man on the inside seeks woman on the outside who likes milling around hospitals guessing the illnesses of out-patients. 30-35. Leeds.’
‘I like my women the way I like my kebab. Found by surprise after a drunken night out and covered in too much tahini. Before long I’ll have discarded you on the pavement of life, but until then you’re the perfect complement to a perfect evening. Man, 32, rarely produces winning metaphors.’
‘Romance is dead. So is my mother’
‘My ideal woman is a man. Sorry, mother.’
‘Your buying me dinner doesn’t mean I’ll have sex with you. I probably will have sex with you, though. Honesty not an issue with opportunistic male, 38.’
‘Not everyone appearing in this column is a deranged cross-dressing sociopath. Let me know if you find one and I’ll strangle him with my bra. Man, 56.’
‘Are you Kate Bush? Write to obsessive man, 36. Note, people who aren’t Kate Bush need not respond.’
‘Stroganoff. Boysenberry. Frangipani. Words with their origins in people’s names. If your name has produced its own entry in the OED then I’ll make love to you. If it hasn’t, I probably will anyway, but I’ll only want you for your body. Man of too few distractions, 32.’
‘Ploughing the loneliest furrow. Nineteen personal ads and counting. Only one reply. It was my mother telling me not to forget the bread on my way home from B&Q. Man, 51.’
‘Mature gentleman, 62, aged well, noble grey looks, fit and active, sound mind and unfazed by the fickle demands of modern society seeks…damn it, I have to pee again.’
‘Slut in the kitchen, chef in the bedroom. Woman with mixed priorities, 37, seeks man who can toss a good salad.’
‘Bald, short, fat and ugly male, 53, seeks short-sighted woman with tremendous sexual appetite.’
‘Romance is dead. So is my mother. Man, 42, inherited wealth.’
