I’m going to tell you a little story. Are you sitting comfortably? Good.. then I’ll begin.

Once upon a time, a gal was walking out of a local supermarket, weighed down with shopping bags, wandering up the stairs in a vague reverie. It was a bright sunshiney Sunday, the leaves were out in green and there was a sweet smell of spring in the air, all mixed up with the car exhaust fumes.

She’s wandering up the road, when she hears rapid footfall and a plaintive male voice going, “excuse me”, “excuse me”.

She turns around and a not unpleasant looking chap is standing there all wild eyed and slightly panting. He’s stocky, early thirties, light eyes, short cropped brown hair… and looks not unlike Mel Gibson’s chunkier younger brother.

“Uh oh” she thinks.

“What’s up? Did I drop something?” She asks, practically.

“No.. no.. not at all” he says in a drawl not entirely Scottish, partly American, partly who knows what.

Cue the winning smile. “I just saw you – and I think you’re really cute.”

“Oh” she says – taken aback a little, whilst little tinkle bells in the back of her head go dingle dangle warning sound. (She ignores them for the moment).

“Are you single? I mean, uhh – are you with someone?”

“mm.. not at the moment,” she muses. (Bells are still gently tinkling away).

“Well, uhh, I’d like to see you – maybe we could go out? Can I take your number?” Confident, boyish charm starts to ooze out like slowly squeezed toothpaste, all stripes and shine. Just like his shirt in the brightening sunshine.

She eyed his single gold chain necklace and pursed her lips.

“You’re certainly brazen… a nice enough trait in a man.. and I’ll give you ten outta ten for brassy effort. But I don’t give out numbers. I’ll take yours instead.”

So she did. And then smiled gently and said, “nice to make your acquaintance. I suppose I need a name?”

“Oh – it’s Joshua.”

“Well.. mine’s Jill.” she said, packing away her mobile and her smile.

“Are you gonna call me?” he asked, somewhat insistently as he walked backwards away down the road.

“I’ll think about it – I’ll text you”.

“Listen – are you free tonight? I could take you out to dinner.” The boyish charm is now flowing more like champagne on tap.

At this point the bells have now turned into a marching brass band, complete with cymbals and a full bass tuba.

“Not tonight.. I’m already doing something. I’ll text you.”

Of course, said gal was washing her hair that night. And she never did call. And she never did text. Why? All too fast, all too convenient, all too smooth… way too smooth.

Turns out I was right.

This evening I was in Gumtree Classifieds looking up listings for sales of electrical goods (I’m researching). I came across a random classified titled: ‘Looking for Joshua Walmsley’. Said gal is looking for a real charming guy by the name of Joshua, who was in his early 30’s and who had upped sticks from Edinburgh and disappeared (the naughty boy).

“Mm,” methinks. So I type the name in to Google, and oh boy, is Joshua a popular guy. “Desperately seeking Joshua”.. in Edinburgh, Reading, London, Preston…. He’s also a dead ringer for the chap I met. Bit of a heart breaker too – seems these gals are wanting to find Joshua real bad.

Oh, so a little more digging and we find a livejournal. The title is a classic: “Scotch Lethario”. Celtic cocktail anyone? His wonderful cv reads like the Man of Mystery: or rather a made up history of words to please and tease. A pro doc, a chocolatier, bar manager, ex-marine, ex special forces. Locations in “Edinburgh Or London Or Reading Or Manhattan Or Afghanistan Or somewhere classified – Pick one that sounds familiar.”

“Not liking to let people go

Before they have agreed to something

Without getting a number or a kiss or more more more

If they have seen the light and try to escape

Met you already….. somewhere.

Reminisce here.”

Josh hon… I’m reminiscing alright… I also did a lot of digging. It gets better.

Josh wasn’t Josh at all. In fact, Josh was previously Neil Anthony. Or Jamie. Take your pick.

A little more bloodhound style digging and I found a thread which revealed said chap started out in Preston as a con man, preying on single girlies, working them for their heartstrings and their purses.

He turned up in London, Edinburgh, and recently, Dundee and then back in Preston, working the girls with his valentine ops cons.

But most recently he ended up in Barrow police station. That was in late May: this week, to be exact.

So… like all good stories, I’ll round up with a nice nursery rhyme.

Little girls, this seems to say,
never stop upon your way,
never trust a stranger friend,
no-one knows how it will end
As you’re pretty, so be wise,
Wolves may lurk in every guise,
Now, as then, it’s simple truth,
sweetest tongue has sharpest tooth.