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I used to get junk mail from affluent Nigerians, offering to give me £millions if only I’d allow them use of my bank account for two or three days. Alternatively, if I could forward them, say, £ten thousand, they’d be able to send me a hundred times that amount, as soon as the funds were freed.

I liked these emails, they’d call me friend, apologising for contacting me out of the blue, and offer me huge amounts of money. Sadly, I never succumbed to the lure of massive Nigerian-sourced wealth.

But now I get emails from Rutte, or Heidi, or Frances, offering me secret liaisons with Russian-sounding women, whose description goes something like “Yelena: 62cm, 145kg” (it might be the other way round – 145cm and 62kg, I’m never sure) and I’m like, well this is lovely, but I’m not sure what they’d see in me. I’m a bookish, former English teacher who writes stories.

So I don’t reply. Too shy, you see.

My grand love affair with Lizbeta (1100cm and 21kg) or Katiya (201cm and 302kg) or whoever, will just have to wait.

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