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They all look as if they could be Britney Spears' chavvier brothers and that every meal they eat comes from a takeaway chicken bucket. I also receive a simply hilarious message from Giles, an Englishman based in Sydney, Australia, who wants me to fly him first class, of course to London and to put him up at the Dorchester.
In return, he will help me run my business and, he says, boost my turnover massively. Then there is Kevin, a toothless roofer from Pontefract, who writes: Not forgetting Ian from Newport who, at 54, is surely too old to qualify as a sugar baby. He writes to tell me that he is riddled with arthritis and walks with the aid of two sticks, but 'let me reassure you that my lack of mobility in no way affects my performance in the bedroom'.
Most of the British-based men who contact me are aged 25 to 35 and aren't attractive enough to be employed as a rich woman's arm candy. Anyone searching for the character Richard Gere portrayed in American Gigolo can forget it. Claudia farewells one of the gold-digging toyboys she met through the website.
She was amazed by their brazenness. We speak briefly on the phone and arrange to meet the next day. Alex arrives ten minutes early at the Italian restaurant I've chosen, bringing with him a rather wilted rose. It is wrapped in brown paper, rather than cellophane, which makes me wonder whether he's just stolen it from someone's garden.
He is wearing a black satin shirt, which seems a little inappropriate for our midday meeting, and reeks of cheap aftershave. He is also a culture vulture who adores the theatre, opera and ballet, if only he could afford it, he adds rather pointedly.
At this point, I wonder whether he thinks he's entering Miss World or trying to seduce a mature cash cow. He tells me I am the first woman he has met from Seeking Arrangement, but that he has had previous relationships with several other rich, older women, including a Japanese lady he claims to have met while working in Tokyo as a croupier.
Things fizzled out when her grown-up children took an intense dislike to him and told him to leave her alone. When I attempt to speak to him in French, he looks utterly horrified and declares that it is his rule to speak only English when he is in England. He is clearly an Eastern European who has convinced himself that a smooth-talking Parisian will have more luck with the very wealthy ladies. The spanner in the works is that he doesn't have the money needed to carry out this expertly thought-out and fail-safe scheme.
When I remark that it sounds rather risky, he assures me 'that's all exaggerated to stop people like me'. The whole tone of his business pitch has a 'don't you worry your pretty little head, just give me the money' feel about it.
No wonder the Japanese lady's children gave him his marching orders. After an hour, Alex has to get back to work, but he generously assures me he will give me first refusal on the chance to invest in his business. It's unlikely I will ever be named businesswoman of the year, but even I can see that Alex's moneymaking venture is possibly one of the worst ideas I've ever heard.
Later that day, I meet up with Nick, who is English and works as a theatrical set designer. In his profile, he says he is fed up with younger girls because they are vacant, vain and too high maintenance. He is 36 and appears good looking in his photos, although they turn out to be ten years out of date.
He says this is his first time on any type of internet dating site, and the phrase 'sugar mummy' makes him feel uncomfortable. He thinks that an older, financially secure woman might not be as hard on his pocket as a young woman.
I never hear from him again, not even a 'thanks for lunch', which makes me wonder if he just cruises the internet looking for a free meal. On Seeking Arrangement, there are thousands of British men all looking to meet a sugar mummy.
But the number of women is woefully lacking. There are only three of us: Neither of the others has posted a photograph, and since the 'new media mogul' can't spell 'entrepreneur' I wonder how deluded they are. Most of the men online have posted very poseurish photos of themselves. Nearly all are reclining on fur rugs or shirtless. There are many examples of young women dating older men, such as Rolling Stones guitarist Ronnie Wood, 61, and his year-old girlfriend Ekaterina Ivanova.
But there are fewer cases of young men with older women. Ricardo, the fawning Italian text pest, has opted for the reclining-on-a-rug-pose. He is wearing a tight white T-shirt and has frosted blond highlights. He writes to me declaring that my beauty and honesty shine through and that even though we both live in London, he will meet me anywhere in the world.
Unfortunately for him, I suggest we meet in a restaurant south of the Thames rather than the south of France. He arrives 15 minutes late in a puff of Brylcreem, cologne and drama, declaring that he located me because: Ricardo tells me he is working in a call centre only because he is between rich women.
He has no shame in admitting that he has spent the past five years being the plaything of wealthy women. His last 'victim' was a New York-based head of a pharmaceutical company who paid for him to spend long weekends at her Fifth Avenue apartment, as well as taking him on holiday to Mauritius and Hawaii.
She also, he reveals, kitted him out in his expensive designer wardrobe. Well, his coat is Calvin Klein How do I know? Because he insists on showing me the label. He constantly kisses my hand and attempts to remove nonexistent threads and hairs from my shoulder. Unlike the previous two gold-digging men I've met, Ricardo isn't subtle when it comes to the subject of my money. Conveniently, Ricardo is more than happy to live at any one of those locations. In fact, so enthusiastic is he that he declares he will resign from his call-centre job immediately: He does think it's unwise that we live together, and thinks it's probably best if I just rent him an apartment 'in Chelsea or somewhere like that.
You can call me and say "Ricardo come to me now," and I will be there in minutes. I panic slightly when he insists that he should escort me back to my office to meet the 90 staff I claim to employ, but I manage to dissuade him by saying that I have to go straight to a meeting. Five minutes after bidding me goodbye with a series of theatrical double-cheeked kisses, I receive a text from him saying: The prospect of seaside luxury proved irresistible for Ricardo, who offered to quit his job immediately.
A few minutes later another appears, declaring: For the rest of the day, the texts come thick and fast: Well, he got that last one right. By now, interviewing for a prospective sugar baby is proving to be an exhausting business. When the men fill out their online profile, they can declare how much of a monthly allowance they would expect from their sugar mummy.
When we meet at a West London bistro, he is dressed in a leather jacket and is incredibly good-looking, turning more than a few heads. But before he has even removed his jacket, the sob story starts. He doesn't go as far as asking me to write him a cheque there and then, but does offer me his address, should I want to send him anything.