They've been quite hard to come by in Sydney so, in the past whenever I happened upon a copy of the London Review of Books, I always made sure it went home with me.
Then I got jack of looking for it and subscribed. Now my appetite is sated on a regular basis. (Plus, it means you get exciting mail, instead of just boring white envelopes with little windows that always spell B-I-L-L.)
LRB is a fortnightly rag full of insightful opinions about all things literary, written by contributors who are seriously clued up about their subject matter.
Love the in-depth book reviews, philosophical discourse, intellectual essays (which sometimes lose me but I try) and even some of the political enquiry.
It has its own bookshop in Bloomsbury which, of course, required a visit on a recent trip to London, where they sell cakes that 'express the ethos of the London Review of Books: independent-minded, surprising and energetic'. Yum. They were good.
Anyhow, despite the veritable feast of brain food contained within, the page I always flip to first is...
Page 39. Personals. Completely unexpected and hilarity ensues.
Check these out, from July 8 2010:
'Semi-detached youngish man (62), wide range of interests, from the mind, through politics, to rugby, invites younger woman to tour the Highlands end July in E-type. Meet London or nearby to check compatibility.' M, 62
'The only danger involved in dating me is that my cosmic reverberations may make you pass a kidney stone of pure solid gold. They call me the Flusher. I also enjoy the music of Billy Joel.' M, 43
'I've been reading LRB for at least six years - time to cash in on that and get me some sex. Ladies? M, 43.'
And this dude even recited original verse...'Bookish girl wanted. Audio poem: hellobookishboy.blogspot.com' Which must have worked because the link seems to have disappeared...go Bookish Boy!