MAN searches all his life for truth, love and enlightenment. Often Man ends up with warm lager, a packet of woodbines and a bunch of friends who communicate their innermost feelings by belching. Man sees gaping hole in life. Man goes and places personal ad in newspaper. At least that's the way I figure it must happen, never having personally placed a personal ad.
This is the modern form of match-making, and things have changed. In the good old, bad old days when a man would declare his interest in a lady by standing in one of her, father's fields and groaning, she in turn would signal her interest by fainting over everything. Then everything was clear. But at the moment we all feel a bit nervous about interpreting each other's intentions. We rely on "social anthropologists" to inform us in their coffee-table books that someone skydiving into our laps on a regular basis means they are rather fond.
Social anthropologists as a group are the worst kind of cynics, making- money out of people's neuroses. The books, by the way, are usually larger and contain rather less information than coffee tables.
Before Dateline took over from Widow McGinty, the qualities looked for in a man were perfectly simple. The twin indispensables were (a) are his cows alive? and (b) is he in similar fettle? This, of course, was the golden age when men were men and women were compensated, for thoroughgoing oppression by being allowed to give birth every hour.
It is healthy to be scared of the person you are attracted to. Only men - supremely chuffed with their unrelenting fabulousness are confident all the time. Only women - drunk with their own imagined powers of allure are free from fear and both these classes, should you become involved with them, will make your life hell.
Love renders the righteous heart-stricken. Many romances start in your local disco as a teenager. I used to be nervous asking girls to dance.
Me: "Do you want to dance?"
Girl: "Excuse me?"
Me: "Um, do you want to..."
Girl: "Hang on a second, I have to get all my friends. OK. What did you say?
Me: "Do ... would ... I . would . . . if. . . do you have any spare strychnine on you?"
LATER in life, people find love through university, work, divorced persons, social clubs, Alcoholics Anonymous, psychiatric wards and quite often in jail. Even Death Row,
Prisoner 1: When are you due?
Prisoner 2: About 25 minutes.
Prisoner 1: Do you want to come-back to my place?
When people put an advert in the paper, you can discern a bewildering range of the human heart's desires. Women seem to emphasise the character of the person they want to meet but they often seem confused as to precisely what they require.
"Kind, sensitive, caring, non-materialistic man sought by petite non- smoker. Must have own castle."
Whereas men seem to stress the importance of less ethereal qualities: "Slim as a whip, huge busted, six foot contortionist with detachable head sought by decrepit chain smoking ferret smuggler."
Some are precise: "Male, 50 stone, into gloves and indoor cycling seeks similar. No freaks please.
"Myopic horse thief seeks woman with hives. Orienteering and possibly more."
Some are non-committal for fear of reducing the number of respondents.
"Man into breathing and food, lives in rooms, seeks person to observe passage of time with - sex, age, dead or alive unimportant."
And some are downright disquieting
"Cardinal, 98. Enjoys respiration - and amnesia. Seeks woman who reads scriptures in thick Cavan accent."
Because these things are conducted in their own particular language, you wonder if people find it difficult to revert to normal speech.
Scene: A cosy restaurant; candles; two nervous people, Daphne and Oswald.
O: "This certainly is a nice, cosy, intimate dinner, I'm feeling sensitive and caring."
D: "Yes. It's almost as good as a walk on a windy beach reading modern literature. My salad reminds me of one of the jazz concerts I frequently attend. It really is the kind of place where you can grow
O: "Absolutely! And even shape a brighter future..."
D: "Oh you! I don't think I've heard a more perceptive or funny remark all evening. But listen, you know the ad you placed..."
O: "Yes?"
D: "Why didn't you mention the steel plates in your head? The transexualism? And the fact that you will only talk to people if they raise - their hand first?"
O: (Picking up a large skewer) "You didn't raise your hand Daphne. That makes me angry."
I SUPPOSE the point is, you have to sell yourself in these advertisements. I met V. quite by chance after four years of intrepid plotting. I don't think an ad would have worked.
"Male. Will spend whole life in bars where they don't clean the floor, and cry every evening into packets of dry soup in tiny bedsits smelling of camphor and pants unless you respond now. You know who you are. If you don't make contact it will be murder. Enjoys brooding, coughing and voodoo. Call me."