Single and lonely

And likely to stay that way. The people who write in to the commuter newspapers about people they have seen on the Tube I mean. It is always

To the beautiful young woman in a red dress, I was the overweight sweaty businessman with a bad combover staring intrusively at your tits between High Street Kensington and Wimbledon. How about meeting up some time?”

or

The fit boy called Dave or Damien, or something beginning with D, or N, I was the pissed-up slapper that snogged you on New Years Eve on the platform at Charing Cross. You gave me your number, but you must have made a mistake writing it down, because it turned out to be a pest control company in Hackney. Please get in touch!”

I often wonder if anyone ever actually replies to those ads. This one is stranger than ficktion though that I saw in the paper the other day:

You: the guy throwing up on the Northern Line at East Finchley on 9 Feb. Me: the ginger girl whose jeans got in the way. Wish I could’ve told you how the remnants of WKD Blue brought out the blue in your eyes. Drink?”

What is the thought process here? She’s wondering why she never meets any nice guys, and then a lightbulb goes on. “What about that drunken tramp who spewed over my clothes? Why didn’t I get his number!”

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