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Published The Republican

Love is begot by fancy,
bred By ignorance, by expectation fed,
Destroyed by knowledge, and, at best,
Lost in the moment 'tis possessed.

'Love', by George Granville

A mystical, magical world of hot blooded indulgent bacchanalian passion, or a slippery whirlwind destined to toss you into a ditch of despair? However you visualise love, it's still a dizzying vortex that draws you in like a magnet. Dating is not the most fun a person can have in their Sunday best, but what happens if you can't even enter the treacherous world of agony and fear that is the First Date? What if you're the one inconsolably bereft of cozy canoodling at a party while everyone else is imitating the Beast with Two Backs in the spa? What if you've Lost Your Touch? Don't despair. For just US $3.99 a month at Premier Date Service (, you can swan through the on-line classifieds searching dreamily for that perfect match to make your life fulfilled. I dove head long into the rather baffling world of Internet dating and found a clutch of highly eligible and delightful young men. How was it that such buoyant creatures remained dateless? Everyone in cyber space is unbelievably good looking, wealthy, tremendous in the sack and have a madcap rollicking approach to life in general. It's Wet DreamWorld without the Gold Coast. I was quite besotted by Andy from Florida. A nice average brown haired boy of 23, who never takes drugs and likes candlelight dinners by the ocean, with a leisurely stroll down the beach for dessert, as, quite uncannily, did Gary, who was specifically seeking a WIFE. This particularly windswept scene was strangely popular and I wondered briefly if no-nonsense multiple choice forms served as romantic cue cards for the perhaps rather indiscriminate requirements of these lady-killers. So seduced was I by all these dishy men hankering for romance that I was unable to see clearly through my rather misty eyes until I'd mainlined some coffee to clear my head. As there were no single dreamboats in Arkansas I went to Texas, where there are blokes aplenty! Greg doesn't mind what age or height his babe will be as long as she doesn't smoke, drink, takes drugs or have kids. Steve, meanwhile, doesn't care if they do any of that stuff as long as they're a top spunk. John is quite the catch, declaring "I am very charming...devilish good looks with the demeanour to match." In my experience the demeanour to match means they're an intolerable nincompoop, but I'm sure his goal to "avoid having children" will be fulfilled. I eventually dragged myself away to check out what romantic delights Russia had in store. Lots of women seemed keen on leaving the country (must be the weather) at The Love Connection (, and Olga and Katerina stood out as rather comely, with that certain 'come hither' look that can make anyone quite soft in the head. Age, weight and height was the only information available and they all seemed remarkably tall and thin. It seemed a bonanza of good times if you can overcome language, cultural and geographic problems to establish some sort of intimate amorous rapport. At $150 a year to join, with $25 for the company to deliver 20 letters for you, it could be cheaper than lining up at a club, paying $10 for a beer and getting jammed between the toilet door and the jukebox, but some sites are dodgy. Offering free membership and bogus offers from multi-lingual supermodels who love to cook banquets and wear Fredericks of Hollywood for any unimaginative lover that wanders in with a posy of flowers from the petrol station, they can make a bit of quick cash, but some do have the right intentions. Whether the available singles can say the same is up to your own bewitching charms. You could become thoroughly smitten by Olga's sassy charms but unless you live in a highly populated area of the USA, you're unlikely to actually come face to face until you've promised all sorts of extravagant things like marriage, ponies and royal parentage. Unfortunately the possibility of them turning out to be a rather pale version of your dreamboat is rather higher than if you'd met them in a dark and strobe lit nightclub on the night you lost your glasses. A huge facial goitre, an affection for silver knicker-bockers or a belief that feminism is a women's sanitary product are all dangerous possibilities, but chance is the swizzle stick that can turn a dull collection of spirits into a tempestuous cocktail, so swizzle away. You could soon be drunk on love.


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