So here's the thing: I'm going to a book launch in Highbury this evening; it'll be delightful. But there's only so much polite applause and speechifying that one can stomach without wishing to get into a real discussion. About what? That's for you and me to figure out. But but it won't be anything predictable, that's for sure

Why give your evening to me? Because I will wrap my attention around you like the atmosphere. It will be like a therapy session, except that this time you won't be smarter than the therapist and the answers will actually unsettle you. I am a professor, but I also run my own business. I'm in superlative physical shape and an accomplished conversationalist. Though I am cynical to my core, that makes me love people in their fallibility rather than resent them in their perfection.

And who are you? The key words here are intelligent and attractive; other ones might be cynical and creative––and fuck it, let's go all out and say beautiful. Maybe you're a postgrad or an early career academic or an artist. Whatever you are, you will feel a pulse of anarchic energy throb inside you that you know most other people don't have. It will have driven you to impulsive transgressions in the past; today it mat even drive you to me. You will have a fond contempt for people who subscribe to bourgeois norms. (So for the record, I don't care about your relationship status.)

What will we do? We'll have exchanged pictures so we'll already know there's attraction. We meet somewhere in Highbury around 8pm; we settle in for drinks or maybe food. The conversation will flow with such fluency it'll make James Joyce seem like he has a speech impediment. Maybe three drinks in we stop pretending, and when I go to say something to you I kiss you instead. You'll wonder why it took so long. After that, we'll see where it goes: nowhere, anywhere, to the dark side of the moon.

So message me, and let's make it happen.