VULTURE.

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE.

I’ve been called upon by Editor Burns to put in plain words on one single, paltry, dammit – solitary page, what makes up the many-faceted beast that is LOVE. Now I’m not talking about love of the planet or love of community, familial love or even “loving one another”. Nope, I’m talkin’ about luuuurve. You know – can’t sleep, longing to see their smile, feel their embrace, love – or, as Shakespeare would say: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate...

So why is it that humans, once they reach the age of reason need to scratch this love itch, that no amount of calamine lotion seems to salve. Is there that special person for each one of us? Google ‘dating rules’ and you’ll get more than 40 million pages of handy hints for everything from how to date a workmate, through to dating tips for parents without partners, divorced dads, young blokes, MILFs and even how to date your roommate. Yup, romance is right up there with other crucial stuff, like breathing.

Or is it just for the sex?

Let’s get that out there on the off and see whether there is any primal foundation for love, sex and growing grey together.

Joann Rodgers, lecturer at Johns Hopkins Medical Institution, says it’s simply about the survival of the species: “People and indeed all animals are hard wired to seek out sex and to continue to do so.”

But surely there must have been some kind of courtship, even dating back to the day of Gog the Neanderthal? Well, writes University of Toronto psychologist Edward Shorter in his book Written in the Flesh: A History of Desire: “To be sure, what people actually experience is always a mixture of biological and social conditioning. Desire surges from the body, the mind interprets what society will accept and what not, and the rest of the signals are edited out by culture.”

Hmmm, have humans simply created an artifice called LOVE to mask their more basic beastly desires? Look at our critter friends… ‘Birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it…’

Did you know the queen bee, after being nourished with untold quantities of royal jelly by her loyal worker bees to induce her sexual advancement, will then take a dozen or so male drones (out of tens of thousands eligible bachelors in the colony with their hands up) to her parlour for a night of good lovin’? So far, so good. But here’s the thing. The male bees, at their sweet moment of conquest, discover their penis has snapped off inside the queen and they have in fact just breathed their last. Talk about loving you to death.

Okay that’s a bit extreme. But that’s just bees. What about one of our closest evolutionary relatives, the bonobo, a kind of pygmy chimpanzee? Their whole societal structure revolves around sex. They use sex as greetings, sex to solve disputes, sex for making up, sex for food. They tongue kiss, engage in oral sex, mutual masturbation, face-to-face genital sex and even have a somewhat eccentric penis fencing ritual (and you thought this only happened with professional footballers after a night out on the turps!). And these little guys are one of the most peaceful, non-aggressive species of mammals living on the planet. They have replaced violence with sex. Cool!

But back to love. Maybe the social structures of modern love are more about “will I be able to afford the school fees?” Thus, beyond one’s more primal urges, a good income, a nice car and a beautiful house would be considered a distinct advantage. Way too cynical? Perhaps…

Although, certainly it was nothing but luuurve for brutish Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, who said: I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she [his beloved Cathy] valued Edgar Linton’s attachment more than mine – if he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn’t love as much in eighty years, as I could in a day… Be still my beating heart!

More recently it was the hippies who put paid to the whole concept of mateship for life with their Free Love ethos. Freedom to love whomever you pleased, whenever you pleased, however you pleased… group sex, public sex, homosexuality, all taboos slung out the window. This didn’t mean that monogamy was unknown, it’s just that the open relationship became an accepted part of the hippy lifestyle. Sure, you might have a relationship with one person, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t explore the bounty of another. If this social movement had proved a success I guess that would have put paid to that burgeoning market for wedding planners out there.

It’s just that the ritual of courtship is so damn hard. And both genders speak their own code. For a bloke to make his intentions known he thinks he just needs to honk his horn (I speak here literally, you of the smutty thoughts).

Whereas the chicks need the whole box’n’dice… flowers, clean shirt AND a shave. And then by some fluke of nature when a couple do get together, there’s this whole anxiety about whether, 1: There will be life after the initial – can’t get enough – rumpity bumpity. 2: You see her mother and your life flashes before your eyes. 3: Your mates stop inviting you out for a fish. 4: You start liking her best girlfriend better than her. 5: You start morphing into that long tall streak of misery that became your mother’s husband.

It’s all so stressful. Says Jerry Seinfeld: “... dating is pressure and tension. What is a date, really, but a job interview that lasts all night? The only difference between a date and a job interview is that in not many job interviews is there a chance you’ll end up naked at the end of it.”

Then when all else fails, you finally reach for help at that Last Chance Love Café at the end of the universe, the Dating Agency. Which happily now resides online.

In the interest of science, accuracy and fulsome research, your diligent (but still contentedly married) correspondent decided to enrol in said online dating agency and send out into cyberspace his profile for perfect mateship. Yes, Dear Reader, I was truthful to the last and posted what I am proud to say, was a rather impressive profile, that read something like this:

Age: Of considered experience. Health: Most robust! Interests: Callisthenics, long perambulations through sylvan fields; respite by the sea; gastronomic titillations; harmonious entertainments. Political Leanings: Bollinger socialist, of course.

And then, with just one anticipatory click…

Well, days have passed and what response have I? Nothing, nichts, nada. This is most perplexing. As aforementioned, I’m a worldly gent, blessed with a perfect pedigree, sharp intellect, jolly humour and dashing looks (although some thoughtful colleagues have kindly suggested that the deafening silence may be because I neglected to post a photo with my profile.) Then again, given the cybersphere’s sneering verdict, it’s perhaps more proof that Mrs Vulture may indeed be my one and only. And yet in light of this new revelation, She herself is now querying her apparent misalignment with the sisterhood… Yikes. But I digress.

I think that maybe the laws of attraction and their inherent dating rules have become so confusing, stressful and categorically ridiculous that many folks are ditching dating altogether. Opting instead for a quiet night in, watching Sex and the City with a giant tub of Homer Hudson’s Choc-Rock for company.

And in today’s world you can forget school dances with the promise of a fumbling pash in the bushes, or even sidling up to your cousin’s best friend for a chance grope in the back seat of your brother’s car. Cripes, these days you’ve got dating classes, speed dating, dating gurus, date doctors and even love coaches.

And you don’t even have to get grubby. Try cyber-romping and text-flirting (Luv2LuvUBab). Hey, why not chat up complete strangers on Facebook and see who turns up. And girls – when he doesn’t email you back, console yourself with those prophetic words of the non-broken-hearted, “he’s just not that into you”.

Alas, Love… that sweet mystery of the heart. Encaptured in the bittersweet words of Thomas Hardy? Happiness is but a mere episode in the general drama of pain. Or, perchance from the sweet quill of Alfred Lord Tennyson: ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.