Girls, girls, girls!

About a year ago I went speed-dating.

Not out of desperation, I should say. It's just ... well, I was intrigued, and I thought it might be fun. And it was a bit of a bargain for 20 quid, to be honest. That's 50p a lady, don't you know.

Hmmm...

OK, so it was a bit of a laugh. Except for that wild-eyed middle-aged woman who wanted to take me to a Bon Jovi concert. Oh, and that mad posh woman who asked me, in all seriousness, what my "five favourite sunsets" were.

Wha...?

Oh... yeah, there were actually a lot of, how should I put this ... "ladies of the more advanced years?" Nope... "generationally-challenged?" No... "coffin-dodgers?" Absolutely not!

OK - more mature ladies! That'll do. There were a fair few mature ladies there – and Wayne Rooney I ain't, so I left with a smattering of 'friends' and 'maybes' ticked off on my card. Thankfully, I never saw any of them again.

The point is, as part of the speed-dating event, I got, and continue to get, emails offering 'Ladies in my area.' (Queue Kenneth Williams-esque "oh, really," or a Sid James-stylee "heh heh" depending on your mood)

Now, you'd think I'd click the 'unsubscribe' link on these emails, but, y'see, they're a bit car-crash-esque. You can't help but look and be fascinated by what's contained within. David Attenborough would have a field day:

"I WOULD LIKE TO MEET A MAN WHO WILL PUT UP WITH MY MOODS AND TREAT ME LIKE A PRINCESS I LIKE TRAVELING AND EATING AND CLUBBIN AND WOULD LIKE A CAREER IN THE MEDIA."

Christ, use your indoor voice, shouty.

"Im an esy going gal who wld lke a man who wil supris me all the tme, tke me to nice plces, & is sxy, advntrous, and wil get along wit me."

No, love, you need a friggin' spell-checker.

Hilariously, each entry is accompanied by a photo of the girl in question, in which they usually look like they're crying into their Campari, about to flash their boobs, or in a police line-up.

I look forward to these emails every week!