How can something that feels so right be wrong?

The London Review of Books is posting a Twitter feed of its personals. A selection of the best offers a fascinating insight into the British art of love:—

I bet a friend £18 I’d find a woman here and have sex with her. Reply and have sex with me, I’ll cut you in at 37%. English Professor, 63.

I’m placing an ad in this column. Things are worse than I thought. Not as bad as they are for you, F, reading this and about to reply. M, 34.

The celebrity I resemble the most is Potsie from Happy Days. What feels so right can’t be wrong. Man, 46. Box no. 2480.

F,45. Ready to begin again with M willing to provide time-sheets/supporting documentary evidence for every minute spent out of the house.

There’s enough lithium in my medicine cabinet to power three electric cars across a sizeable desert. Man, 33. Officially Three Cars Crazy.

Many people carry scars from past relationships. Not me: mine come from Chinese buffets. Clumsy, argumentative dim sum enthusiast (M, 45).

I grazed my knee writing this advert. Accident prone F, 35. Box no. 4311.

There are 289 species of octopus. I can, and will, name them all during the act of love. M, 58. Box no. 6759.

Via The Second Pass