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Jason Statham. Now there’s a guy who doesn’t faff with exfoliation…

Well, I’ve bitten the bullet, done the deed and shaved the hairy donkey. (I made up that last one, by the way) I’ve joined an online dating site! I’m looking for a man. A real man. A man with stubble, and dry patches on his cheeks ‘cos moisturising’s for girls. A man who loves and respects his mum, but doesn’t still live by her rules.  Or in her house. A man who has a fine pair of testicles, and knows how to use them.

Oh, and a pulse would be good, too.

I mean, look at him! You’d never catch Jason Statham faffing in front of a mirror, exfoliating, or hot-oiling his locks. He’d be down the gym, or working out, or smacking some wimpy guy’s head against a wall. Not that I’m condoning violence; wimpy guys have feelings, too. But this guy just oozes testosterone and sex appeal. God, you’d never want to get out of bed. Unless, of course, he was waiting for you in the shower…

Oh be still, my twitching knickers!

So now, I’m on a mission; there has to be one middle-aged, unattached, emotionally healthy bloke lurking somewhere in Cornwall. Doesn’t there? Just one, surely.

And once I’ve found him – well, I’m not sure I can remember what to do with him. I mean, it’s been so long, I expect it’s all done by computer these days. Is that what these social networking sites are all about?

A quick Tweet, anyone?

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