LIZ JONES: ‘I’m drawn to high-dominance ladies. I’m a weak male,’ he advised me. This was my reply…

I wonder if I’ve been doing it all wrong. Spotting a small-eyed man with hair snaking over his collar at a party, falling in love at first sight. Because currently, improbably, I’m in the new series of Love is Blind. Without the pods. Let me explain.

A few years ago, a male reader sent me a copy of The Cat Inside by William S Burroughs. When my friend Andrea came to stay before Christmas (she packs Dreamies when holidaying in developing countries), I put the book, Meghan hostess fashion, by her bed. A couple of weeks ago, I received a long paper letter from the man who’d sent me that book. He loved that I’d written I had placed it next to Muriel Spark. He then told me about his love for Virginia Woolf, naming his cat Woolf in her honour. I emailed him, saying he’s a beautiful writer. This week, he emailed back.

‘You’re at the top of your game, writing for Britain’s bestselling paper, proud owner of a vicarage in Yorkshire, travelling the world and meeting the famous. You have a high profile with a large fanbase. There are people who would kill for that. I’m a literary snob and you are the only journalist I follow in any real sense. The greatest feminists lived on their own terms like you, with a healthy dose of contempt. Zelda Fitzgerald is my favourite. More irony: she was a flapper. Flappers evoke an image of ditsy dancing girls. Other iconic ones include Diana Cooper, Nancy Cunard, Tallulah Bankhead and Josephine Baker. Talented, reckless, beautiful and wilful.’

He was struck I’d mentioned suicide in a column. ‘What I find weird about Virginia’s suicide is that she chose to drown when her famous literary suicides jumped. Writers normally emulate their own work.’

He then wrote he, too, has seen the new Bridget. ‘It cheered me up.’

Me: ‘I can’t imagine you in a cinema watching Bridget.

The last film David 1.0 saw was Jaws. He thinks Kate Mosse is a supermodel. Have you seen Babygirl? My goodness! A worrying number of parallels between Nicole Kidman and me. That first scene, where she again fails to climax, goes into another room? I did that the last night with the German in my hotel; fortunately, it was a suite.’

I know nothing about this man, what he does, though I imagine he lives alone: a wife would put a stop to his reams of emails.

‘Hi Liz. This might sound sad, but I watch all the films. I’m torn with Babygirl. The theme of the power dynamics between the sexes fascinates me. I thought it could have been more powerful played at a slower pace, ramping up tension like Fatal Attraction. I’ve gone off Nicole Kidman, her acting and her physique. I used to look forward to anything with her; maybe she’s doing too much. She’s gone really skinny. I found her a turn-off. You find [the German] inadequate like Nicole Kidman finds her husband inadequate.

‘I studied psychology, and the theory on the power dynamics between the sexes is that there are three types: low dominance, average dominance and high dominance. Women are only happy when their partner is higher dominance. A lower-dominance male becomes the stereotypical hen-pecked husband. A high-dominance female is a woman at the pinnacle of her career, like Nicole Kidman, like you. This theory suggests that such women struggle to find satisfaction as most men are inadequate. I’m drawn towards high-dominance women while accepting I fall into the category of weak male.

‘I’d have preferred Demi Moore in that role. Her autobiography is jaw-dropping. Like you, she has PTSD. It would be good to continue, though I’m a slower writer than you, the pace may not synch. Love, R and Woolf. x’

I feel like Anne Bancroft in 84 Charing Cross Road. I’m reminded of a text my friend Sue sent me, ‘Handsome is as handsome does.’ It’s a revelation, a man who is complex, well read, sensitive. I’m only slightly wondering if he has Marcus Wareing stubble.

I told him a new thoroughbred arrives tomorrow, on loan from animal charity Blue Cross, to be a companion to Swirly. Beauty is six, rescued from a neglected herd and can never be ridden. He didn’t type, ‘Nice’, as the German did when I sent footage of Swirly galloping like Black Beauty.

This mysterious man’s reply? ‘Anna Sewell lived in Haywards Heath for four years.’