“Hope springs eternal in the human breast” – so wrote Alexander Pope; though, if he had ever read the personal classifieds in the London Review of Books, he might have added that at the distant prospect of fleshly matters, desperation is not shy in springing forth either:
I have a recipe for space cakes. My theory is that, when eaten, the human body no longer needs oxygen to survive for as long as the cakes are being digested. The key ingredient is a derivative of a plant used by inhabitants of the Pacific islands thousands of years ago that enabled them to dive for extended periods whilst fishing. Once made stable, this ingredient lasts longer in the human body, making longer, less cumbersome space-walks possible. What I currently lack, however, is the money to make this venture happen. That’s where you come in: big-chested 21-year old rich totty with fondness for 62-year old loons. Write quickly – time, and the nurses, are against me. Box no. 20/06.(London Review of Books, (Classified: Personals) Vol. 27, No. 20: 20th October 2005)
It warms the cockles, does it not?