I've had my peak piqued

I am most piqued. Being piqued can be good. A good poem can give you a good pique. But not this sort of piquery.

Could anyone tell me whether you'd find this offputting if you received this as a first email from someone on a dating site? I sent this to a 37-y-o from Eeeh Baah Goom Town, and she barred me from contacting her!

By the way, if you imagine the objection would be an age difference, she did say on her site that the age range she's looking for is 30-50. Last I looked, 47 falls within that. And I'm a fuck sight better looking, and better dressed, than most 47-y-o men in Lancashire.

Just to contextualise the first sentence in my email to her, her "You should contact me if" section included "You've got nice fore arms." I know that should be one word, but she's exonerated according to the provisions of the Attractive Women Get Away With Slight Spelling Mistakes Rule.

I've spent the last few days looking at my forearms and thinking "Are these nice, from the point of view of a girl ten years younger than myself from B--?" And I can't find an answer.

My eyes lit up when you mentioned L'appartement. I love that film. I love it but it leaves me with a faint feeling of envy that I will never be that cool, and then I think, let's not bother about imitating film stars. So my ideal night now would be getting you out for a drink and just see what happens.

I know we all like to be appreciated for our inner qualities etc. But: nice picture.

Actually it's just occurred to me that you don't invite someone out on the first email. Maybe that's it.

In happier news, my artistic collaborator Shelly, with whom I cavorted at the Belgian State's expense last year, emails to tell me that a professional New York-based art journalist who came to Brussels last year to see our show has made a web page about it.

She's made a hash of the titles of the pieces, attributing one piece to someone else when it's my piece, and getting the dates of the pieces way off, but it's flattering to know that someone travelled all that way to review the weekend of which me and Shelley were part. Why didn't she introduce herself I wonder? That's strange. We could have had arty sex in the Sint Caterine district.

This is me performing George Brecht's Drip Piece, not "Drip Music" as she erroneously titles it. Must do more of this in 2012. I like it, I enjoy myself, people like it, I get good reviews, I meet interesting, bullshit-free people, and always manage to get utterly pissed, usually for free, afterwards.