Beta Male by Iain Hollingshead

www.obnoxiouslytinyworlddating.com or www.weonlyshagotherrichpeople.net . Clicking through the other profiles, Matt treated me to a cascade of square-jawed private equity directors and glossy-maned blondes who all seemed to have ‘boutique fashion’ businesses and first names ending in ‘a’. The advertising was expertly tailored for Amelia, Olivia, Antonia, Alexandra and their friends. Chat forumsincluded such pressing topics as the best new luxury car dealers in Knightsbridge, the tastiest caterers for weddings in Wiltshire and the most trustworthy heli-skiing guides in Courchevel. The recession clearly hadn’t hit this part of the web yet. There were more Russians and Arabs than you could shake a mouse at.
    â€˜Fling your options wide open and then narrow them down again according to your own criteria,’ explained Matt with a grin. ‘A rich, grateful patient of mine got me onto the site. It’s invitation-only. If you can’t beat them, join them, eh?’
    â€˜I’ve always preferred, “If you can’t join them, beat them”.’
    â€˜Well, good luck with that, mate. And have fun at work today. I’m sure the glamorous city sharks will be falling over themselves to sleep with and marry the guy doing their photocopying.’
    With what I hoped was a suitably supercilious snort, I left Matt to his sad online games and ventured into the Square Mile to do an honest day’s work.
Pah
, I thought, as I crammed in with the rest of the commuters on the Tube.
If that’s the way he wanted to do it, then good for him
. I knew my strengths and weaknesses. Both lay in the real world.
    After thirty minutes of inhaling eau d’underground, I was in a slightly less upbeat mood. I didn’t like the real world much, I concluded, as I trudged wearily up the long escalator at Bank station. It looked as though my fantasy restoration of the way things used to be would be short-lived. Alan had disappeared to an unknown location, Ed had vanished into himself and his memories, and Matt had swapped the normal world for a shadowy online existence where the only thing that mattered was the size of your trust fund. So much for us all seeing more of each other.
    Still, in times like these I had Claire, my reserve bloke. Her permanent office was very close to my temporary one so I rang and arranged to meet for as early a lunch as possible. She was looking well – suspiciously well. In my experience girls only look that happy when they’re having a great deal of sex withsomeone they actually like. It’s a cruel trick of nature that women should look the most appealing when they’re the least desirous of your attentions. Why can’t they look their best when they’re sad and lonely and haven’t slept with anyone for six months?
    â€˜You’re looking well, too,’ lied Claire after I’d complimented her. I looked distinctly green, having just spent ninety per cent of my morning wage, before tax, on a sandwich. ‘What are you up to?’
    I explained that I had taken the advice she had given me in Edinburgh to heart and was attempting to find a suitable lifelong partner before gravity took its toll, no one fancied me any more and I was too poor and infertile to have any children.
    â€˜Oh, Sam,’ she laughed. ‘I was only joking.’
    â€˜I’m not.’
    â€˜So how are you going about doing it?’ she asked.
    I explained my scheme, but it only made her laugh more and more uncontrollably until our lunch resembled the restaurant scene in
When Harry Met Sally
. Other customers stopped and stared at us, wondering perhaps who this comic genius could be. Claire, however, was most definitely laughing
at
me.
    â€˜Sam, you are without doubt the most ridiculous person I know.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ I said, graciously. If the only compliments you receive are unintentional, I don’t see any reason why you