'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of me,' said Janice Boston from the other Boston in Lincolnshire.
'That's what we were promised. A young, fabulously wealthy, dashing, caddishly charming Mr Darcy, sometimes in full military dress, sometimes in nothing but goose fat ready to swing from a ballroom chandelier at me.
'But just look at the reality. Every famous billionaire around now is a pickled onion-faced fruitloop with more character flaws than Trump Tower. Pathetic, whining imbeciles with more false ego than sense. You just wouldn't. Not for all the Amazon warehouses in the East Midlands.
'And to be honest, I'm not bothered whether they're single or not, or which 21 year-old, vacuous, gold-digging model-whore they're married to this week. Just give us one half-decent guy, vaguely not nutty as a squirrel's trolleys, who isn't more wrinkled than a prune in a screwed up Sun, and doesn't have a rug weave so bad it's a surefire indicator of male pattern bum crevice undergrowth.
'Get rid of the lot of 'em before they do for us all from their bunker lairs like badly written Bond villains, and dish out their ill-gotten gains to Ed Gamble.'
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