As someone who continually rereads the New York Review of Books personal ads, I understand the need for a collection devoted entirely to the bizarre, twisted and warped day-dreams, desires and fantasies that regularly appear in lonely hearts columns. The irony of a lonely hearts column cannot be underestimated. In the small box, surrounded by other small boxes of print, someone must say something to catch the eye of others. As such, this leads many into the realm of interesting, sarcastic and quirky over-statements which, collected together, make the most delightful weekend reading.

David Rose, the editor of this small tome, manages the personals section of the London Review of Books. Interesting things seem to happen to him through his tenure there, editing personals, helping people pin down what they want to say. It’s all interesting to this reader, hearing how the personal ads get printed. The personal is a gamble, something entirely unlikely to pay off. And yet people continue to place personal ads in lonely hearts columns all around the world. Why? I’m afraid I don’t have time go into all of that here…

However, I will say this. The brilliance of the humor in this volume, the follow-up to the equally splendid, They Call Me Naughty Lola, can only be proven with complete, unedited excerpts from the ads themselves. To whet your appetite, I’ve chosen a few gems. Believe me, there’s so much more where this came from:

“They said I’d never dance again—they were right. Incontinent 76-year old man, needs buxom woman to spoon-feed him breakfast (and dress his leg ulcers). OK, I’m not Cary Grant, but who are you—Lana Turner? Box no. 0123.”

“Are you the man of my dreams? Green, 9’10”, three eyes, six tentacle arms and reciting the third canto of Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene whilst crushing football-sized grapes with hoofed feet? Either stop it now or kiss me, you monstrous wine-making fool. Woman, 41, Exeter. Box no. 1011.”

“Man, 41. Not the sharpest sandwich at the picnic. Box no. 2442.”

“Nothing says ‘I love you’ in a more sincere way than being woken with champagne and pastries and roses. Apart from a dog with peanut butter on the roof of his mouth. Write, we’ll meet, sleep together and—in the morning, just before my friend’s wife tells me to get off their sofa and get out of their house—I’ll show you Winston’s trick. It’s hilarious. You’ll have to bring the peanut butter, though—they’ve put locks on all the kitchen cupboards. Man, 25. Box no. 6433.”

“I have a mug that says ‘World’s Greatest Lover’. I think that’s my references covered. How about you? Man, 37. Bishopsgate. Box no. 8763.”

“I’d like to thank all the women of the LRB who have taken the time to read this advert by making love to you all. Honestly, it’s the least I could do. Extremely grateful gentleman (76, but my tiny Elvis still works). Box no. 4311.”

That’s just six selections from this book, which, due to the mentioning of a writer of being a former Miss World, includes a bonus listing of all the Miss World winners from 1951 to 2008, including editorial remarks on every major political, economic, sexual and social scandal that has come up during the pageants. (You would be amazed what goes on backstage!) The introduction to this book talks about the many people “full of typical British insecurity and self-deprecation” that he has assisted in their search for love among the broken hearts and smashed dreams of a lonely hearts column and is a useful guide for anyone considering placing a personal ad. The reason that all of these ads are winners is because they are so absurd and over-the-top that one can’t help but be intrigued, or at least give it a laugh. I’ll leave you with one last glimmer, taken from the end of the book:

“My last love affair ended with a round of applause from a crew of stand-by paramedics. If the next one has to end I’ll settle for a text message. Woman, 39. Seeks man who knows when to wear his Medic Alert Badge, carries his own emergency injectable adrenaline kit, and isn’t too scared to say ‘actually, I don’t feel like lobster tonight’. You know who you are, Box no. 7942.”