Valentine’s Day is almost upon us and I’ve lost count of the number of single people who have been lamenting their plight at this time of year. I decided to have a little look at Singleton town, so I opened the newspaper and began reading the personal ads: lonely hearts looking for love. Most seem to be older people looking for companionship, you know someone to sit in the garden with or with whom to exchange denture cleaning advise. Other ads are downright bizarre, bordering on the psychotic.

Here’s a sample of some of the ads I came across:

“A gorgeous slender blonde, 52, with green eyes and creative career, seeks tall, dynamic, attractive man, who enjoys making a difference to the world.”

What are we to make of this? I read it as “old hippy who never quite grew up, likes to paint in her back room and call it “work”, seeks man to attend anti-war demonstrations with.” Am I wrong? Is it just me?

How about:

“Accountant, 27, attractive and ambitious, seeks professional sporty male, 30-35, with a positive outlook on life, for friendship and maybe more.”

I don’t know about you, but why would anyone’s first description of themselves on the sexual market be “Accountant”? The rest isn’t too bad, but how many men saw “accountant” and thought “Next!”

Another lady has rather high hopes and expectations:

“Are you athletic looking, sporty, educated, adventurous, have a zest for life and are truly special? So am I! Are you attracted to intelligence fun and laughter? If so, call me Early 40’s.”

She’s not asking for much, eh? The problem is most guys who are educated didn’t have much time for sports and the guys who spent their time at school playing football and shagging cheer-leaders probably didn’t get an “A” in algebra and won’t be discussing the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius any time soon.

Next I got:

“Attractive feisty ginger female, smoker, successful lawyer, divorced (no children). Seeks younger man for fun times.”

Ginger? Smoker? Lawyer? That explains the divorce then.

My personal favourite though has to be this:

“German Shepherd dog urgently seeks professional male, with GSOH, to be a friend/soul mate for her feminine, tall, slim, fair, young 60’s mistress.”

What on earth went through this woman’s head when she wrote this ad? (she’ll probably protest that it was her dog who wrote it actually!) Frankly I think I’d rather date the aforementioned German Shepherd than risk my life taking this maniac into a restaurant full of other human beings.

Some of the ads for men seeking women fared no better, particularly this sickening mawkish muck:

“I just want to be loved and be able to love and respect a real lady. Please give us a chance for future happiness. Male, 40’s.”

Define “desperate” please sir.

As I glanced across the pages I saw some familiar phrases, and wondered just what they were supposed to mean:

“Pear-shaped”

Woman with a small top and massive arse?

“Cuddly”

Woman with massive breasts?

“Bubbly”

Woman with fat bits in all kinds of weird places who enjoys jiggling them around in public?

“Genuine male”

As opposed to a Terminator robot?

“Balding and proud of it”

Balding and fuck all you can do about it my friend!

“Young 70’s”

Looks 69.

“Young 60’s”

Looks 59 and 11 months.

There is so much in human courtship that strikes me as weird. In 20 minutes scanning the personal ads I went from crying with laughter to genuinely terrified that I might walk past some of these people in the street or share a late night bus with them. And of course this phenomenon extends now to the internet with all kinds of dating services available for people who can’t be arsed meeting real live human beings in real live situations; and while the rest of us have dinner and sex tomorrow night they’ll be glued to their online chat.

Such desperation mingled with unrealistic expectation. But perhaps all these folks are aware of new government advice telling people that the best way to get fit is a workout in the bedroom. Regular sex apparently lowers the risk of heart attacks and helps people to live longer and look younger. Apparently there is also a connection between sex and mental health, which I guess explains some of the personal ads above. But even this government report is quite unrealistic about sex. The report tells us that sex helps us burn 300 calories an hour. Now, I’m no Studdley Goodfuck but what’s all this talk about an hour? Unfortunately for most of us it translates to 25 calories for the average of 5 minutes we actually manage which will probably help you burn off little more than a sip of orange juice, so if you happen to enjoy eating stuff off your partner you’d better stick to wafers or plain popcorn. But according to the report: “sex uses every muscle group.” Bloody hell! Not the way I do it! But for the fact that I have a son I would be seriously wondering if I’ve been doing it right all this time after reading this kind of thing. And if sex is meant to make you look younger, slimmer, your hair shinier, and keeps colds and pains at bay, as the report says, why am I ugly, overweight, balding and sitting here feeling like I’ve got an adult sheep in each nostril and a lizard in my throat?

Such expectations just aren’t met in the real world. Women aren’t going to find a prince charming, and men aren’t going to find an intelligent supermodel. Nor is sex going to answer all the problems that report says it will. Life just isn’t that good.

In saying that, life is good, for me. So, while neither my wife nor I are perfect or anywhere near so we love each other, and even if sex won’t turn us into super fit and healthy athletes we’ll still have a good rattle at it tomorrow.

Enjoy your Valentine’s Day, whatever (or whoever) you do.

Stephen