More Personals from the LRB

The London Review of Books has the best personals ever. Just regular joes looking for an average date, assuming you are a crab-juggling fish nerd or a space goat.

Has your life been ruined by therapy? Are you stuck in interpretive regress? Me too. Now looking for M, 40s, to live an unexamined life. London.

Rather beautiful 34-year old hysteric seeks man who has written more books than her analyst. Her own attempts have stalled at page 96.

Celebrate National Nurses Week with me! Man, 82.

If you’re anything like me, you’ll be a marine biologist, 56, and enjoy secretly juggling crabs when no-one else is in the laboratory. Man, 56, seeks crab-juggling fish nerd.

For all you ladies keeping a vigil for my return to this column after an absence of 2 years, God has answered your prayers by forcing the LRB, after much petitioning, to lift almost all of their unreasonable restrictions on the content of my adverts. I am a man. I am 46.

My door is always open. Mostly because I live in a barn. Farm-dwelling survivalist and rural hedge enthusiast. Man, 62.

By applying Baer and Rinzel's Continuum Model to our love-making I will show you how the pedicles and laminae forming the vertebral arch of the spine is the only true erogenous zone. I will require travel expenses (I live within Zone 4 of the London Underground network – further details will follow), a beverage allowance, and a willingness on your part to undergo just 45 minutes of drug-free anaesthesia.

And my favourite one this week:

I subvert all the expectations built up in this column like a goat in space subverts gravy. Space-goat-esque gravy-subverting pervert (M, 51).

A goat in space subverting gravy? Ah, if only I was available....