In spite of the aforementioned neurosis, I'm a bright, witty fellow guaranteed to make you smile. Or giggle. And possibly sigh. Given the go-ahead, definitely.
What do I want? Mainly to do as little as possible to get by (which, arguably, I do) so that I have the time to... 1) continue being a good father to my daughter who lives nearby... 2) indulge myself in whatever delightful pursuits that come to mind (all of them lazy).
What do I want from you? Nothing less than total adoration. Failing that, a mercy hug will do.

I'm unfashionably well-spoken but almost retarded when it comes to modern communication. Discovering that computer users weren't 'lol'ling about on ingeniously designed couches but pretending to be amused came as something of a recent disappointment.

I have to admit that I was a 'pretty' boy which I didn't enjoy at all. I didn't help myself by wearing eye-liner and earrings and as a result many a 'date' was spoiled by whistling builders addressing their, unbeknownst to them, homo-erotic desires to the "blondie!" and not the brunette. However, age seems to have made my charming masculinity more forcefully apparent with dimples the size of craters and sparkling (though glazed first thing) blue (red first thing) eyes that are now kohl-free. The full head of blonde/auburn hair is still longish but not in the least bit 'girly' or so my gay Brazilian body-builder neighbour tells me. He offers the far more manly description of "Viking" and I'd say he's spot on. Whatever I say will be deep. Not philosophically but in timbre and tone.

From musical to muscle tone in a flash...
Though going to a gym (with its attendant aesthetic, sartorial and cultural horror) has never and will never happen, I've managed to hold myself together by getting about on a push-bike and doing the odd push-up. Even my being a push-over when it comes to Sugar Puffs (lots of pushing and puffing going on here) has yet to have a negative impact on my initial genetic luck. The impact on my teeth is another story. They may well be impacting at this very moment but they are still there (most of them) or even here. My Brazilian friend (here, there and everywhere) told me, quite out of the blue and over his garden hedge (definitely his), that they need a scrape.

So, if you have any interest in... let's say four?... of my own "interests" or have a functioning hoover, you're invited.

I certainly don't want to eat food and walk on a flipping beach. 99% of all beach walkers on every beach from every corner of the globe just have to have come from Plentyoffish. The other 1% will be the ones enjoying themselves.
As I'm constantly challenged by large dog-food, cigarette and Bratz-doll accessory bills, we would have to keep it simple and my chronic dislike of public places does limit our options. If it must be 'outside' I know a couple of local cafes which I'd be prepared to cycle to for a cup of tea and a biscuit (I think they may do scones). Hopefully we'll fall madly in love or lust in an instant and rush back to my flat, with you on the bike-seat and me in front pushing the peddles. Big girls needn't worry; I've got a sturdy push-bike and powerful leg muscles. If you're huge, then I'll pay for the cab which can follow the bike. Little girls may find the saddle a bit bumpy, but worth it.