Seeking . . .

One of my favourite oxymorons is 'galloping lethargy', mainly, I think, because I suffer from it rather more often than is good for me.  Anyway, it was in such a condition that I managed to reach from the depths of my armchair for my copy of The Spectator.  However, such was the almost moribund nature of my idleness that I could not bring myself to plunge into the rigorous essays and reviews, and instead I perused the classified ads at the back.  There-in, I came across an advertisement from a:

Lively Attractive American female seeking well educated, kind, funny, imaginative 60-ish male as friend, companion, and more [???], to explore countryside, attend theatre and concerts.  Must love classical music and dogs. (My interrogative interpellation, of course.)

Again, in my idleness, I began to ponder how I would compose a similar advert on my own behalf.  Presumably, a certain amount of self-description is required in order to kick the thing off and here, immediately, honesty vies with - well, not dishonesty exactly - perhaps, a desire to gloss over certain characteristics whilst adding a mere hint of glittering fascination to others.  Alas, in my case, this entails the sort of linguistic expertise required to draw up an Arab-Israeli peace treaty!  Then consideration must be given to specifying the virtues one is seeking in the companion of one's dreams.  Here, one enters a descriptive mine field which I can only illustrate by firstly laying out the spec in plain language:

Drop-dead gorgeous - after all who wants to look at someone who is spectacularly ugly?  No sex involved - my dear, simply too, too, energetic and these days one has to consider one's carbon footprint what with all the heavy breathing involved and thus the increase in carbon dioxide.  Silent unless spoken too - don't ask me why but in the middle of long comfortable silences, usually whilst one is reading, women always come out with utterly incomprehensible non sequiters which leave you feeling like a boffin at Bletchley Park whilst you try to fathom out the hidden meaning.  Must be wealthy - well that goes without saying, I suppose. 

I could go on - and on - but you see the difficulty of disguising those requirements in a language which will actually flatter the lady in question.  Oh dear, I can already feel another torpor approaching, and anyway, the entire exercise is a waste of time because, in my experience, women are nearly always sharper than a cut-throat razor and just as deadly so they will see through the obfuscations with ease.  And anyway, with perfect timing the 'Memsahib' has just shouted up the stairs asking me if I would like a cup of tea and a slice of Cornish saffron cake - what a wonderful woman!