Girl's Column: Violet de Capote Interne

Amusingly for the rest of the girls at our monthly Deptford drink, my friend Madelaine truly believe she is being contacted via... the free paper love ads. The section in the paper on the tube that people write into with very vague information in order to ensnare 'hot blonde on the train Liverpool St to Stratford, carrying a pink bag' or 'man looking at his shoes, did you notice me twitching at you? Drink?'. I wasn't convinced at the realism of her thinking:

'Mads, how can you be so sure it's you?'

'Well, it says 'tall girl on the escalator at London Bridge with red shoes Wednesday' and I'm a tall girl... with red shoes... and that's my commute'

'You're only 5"7 mate, and they're burgandy to be pedantic'

'well men arent pedantic, and probably don't know burgandy is a colour...'

Before I could continue discouraging Madelaine from calling the Love Line number, Cherie chimed in:

'Apparently every single love-ad receives an average of four replies from people convinced it's them. Based on that, we should probably put out ads to get hold of guys.'

Over a bottle of red we debated how this would give us an advantage based on what we were looking for and the post-code areas of london, for instance,
 
Broad shouldered blonde guy getting off at Earls Court - Sporty Australian
 
Suited guy with worried look on escalator at Bank - Troubled but still working hedge funder
 
Skinny Jeans guy in need of sandwich on 149 bus to Dalston - Struggling and needy artist
 
However, no amount of stereotyping of tube station is likely to bring my ideal guy up the escalator and in to my held-at-distance arms, the crazy and the players are using every tube, bus and tram. No particular station is exclusively for the balanced and straightforward. Worse still, we'd identified my three closest train stations as:

'Wannabe creative, substance-obsessed bad boys, job title vague: 'producer' or 'party organiser'' 

Time for a change of post code? Or just a change of type?