If you are a woman aged 35, good in bed (even a lesbian), can fly a chopper and shoot and you are NOT from a country that starts with an I or has a green flag (apart from Italy) then you could be just the woman this millionaire divorcee is dreaming of
“YOU could always move in and share it,” whispers the baronet.
It is 3pm on a Monday and I’m in bed with a 72-year-old man who is tickling me with an ostrich feather. This is one of the most surreal assignments of my professional life.
But this episode is just another day in the bizarre life of former shipping magnate Sir Benjamin Slade — arguably Britain’s oldest and most eligible divorcee.
He is desperately, and very publicly, searching for the perfect “fertile” woman to bear him an heir.
For the past six years he has been running an ad imploring suitable ladies to come forward for the “job”, which includes running his estate.
But despite “many approaches”, he remains very much single.
Which is why I find myself in his ridiculously opulent bedroom.
Just what is stopping this charismatic and wealthy aristocrat — reportedly worth £20million — from finding true love?
He says: “I put an ad out for the perfect lady and was inundated with requests but they have to meet the requirements. I can be rather exacting in my requirements.” Not half.
The former stockbroker has a blush-inducing list of demands that a lady must fulfil, from having sex lessons with a madame to flying him around in a chopper.
He lives in a 14-bedroom stately home, Maunsel House, set in 2,000 acres of Somerset countryside and which he also rents out as a B&B.
As we enjoy a tipple in the bar, he says: “I want two sons to leave all this and my castle to.
“I’ve loads of relatives but they’re so rich they don’t want this place as it’s so expensive to maintain.
It is good to hear he has 'relaxed' his rules when it comes to lesbians. Previously, 'homosexuals', along with Guardian readers, communists and Scots, were strictly forbidden from getting in touch
“But I need a woman to run it and I’ll pay her £50k a year plus a bonus, depending on how well she does.
“That includes free food and boarding so it’s a very good offer.
“But any female prospective guests who come and stay must bring their mothers, so I can check them out, too.
“You can tell how a woman will end up by meeting the mother.”
Just for fun, I invite him to imagine I am one of his candidates.
With that, he whips out two crumpled A4 pages from his tweed jacket and begins to read through the list of demands.
He tells me: “No one under 5ft 6in.”
I would have scraped through the first round.
“She must have a shotgun licence,” he adds. “Have you got one?”
“Afraid not,” I reply.
“You can learn,” he says curtly. “It will take you six weeks.”
I begin to feel nervous as I take in the guns on the walls and the pair of handcuffs hanging from the ceiling.
“I’ve got over 80 guns in here,” he boasts, before getting back to the matter in hand.
“She must have a helicopter licence, you got that? I need someone to fly me to lunch in Devon and Cornwall and I can’t be dealing with the traffic.”
Surprisingly, I don’t and my silence speaks volumes.
“You must have a driving licence, surely?” he asks. “That’s essential for the lucky lady so she can drive me to all the parties and back.” Nope.
“Oh dear, things aren’t looking good. You’re not a Scorpio are you? Scorpio women are nightmares.”
I tell him I’m a Capricorn and he appears relieved by this.
The list becomes more batty as it goes along but it is good to hear he has “relaxed” his rules when it comes to lesbians.
Previously, “homosexuals”, along with Guardian readers, communists and Scots, were strictly forbidden from getting in touch. Now, Sir Ben will consider “pretty” ones as they are a “challenge”. He says: “As long as they can give me a son they can have their fun on the side.” The ideal age is now 35 — 37 years his junior.
I tell him I am 31 but he says he is relaxed about that. He can keep up, he insists — with some help.
Sir Ben, who has had some of his sperm frozen, takes Cialis, an erectile dysfunction treatment.
He says: “I can go all weekend on it. Oysters are also great.
“I do have to watch what I drink though. Too much booze can sometimes wreak havoc down below.”
It is hard to tell if he is joking or being serious as his poker face gives nothing away.
He continues to read through his long list as he takes me on a grand tour of the 14th Century mansion.
First stop, the loos. In the gents are naked pictures of glamorous women in the cubicles for “frustrated guests”. To comply with “PC times” he has hung photos of hunks in trunks in the ladies, including one shot of David Beckham.
We walk through two ballrooms, where guests pay tens of thousands to have dream weddings, before arriving in the library.
Stuffed animals and hats hang from the red walls and a brown bear stands in the corner.
We pass through the hallway, which is more of a shrine to former lovers and “almost lovers”.
There are framed photographs of his stunning Russian opera-singer ex, who was a “diva”.
He says: “She was too much but fired me in the end.”
Sir Ben talks me through the rest of his exes and it is fair to say his love life has been colourful. He reportedly divorced his ex-wife Pauline Myburgh after 12 years, having grown frustrated with her 17 cats. Then there was his long-term relationship with businesswoman Bridget Convey.
At the time, it was reported they split because at 50 she was “too old” for kids. But he insists the relationship just ran its course.
He dated Fiona Aitken, the second wife of the Earl of Carnarvon, but the pair ended up in a bitter High Court custody battle over their beloved pet pooch.
And of another ex, Kirsten Hughes, who he split with in 2011, he says: “She ran off in the middle of the night with my handyman.
“I was more upset that I’d lost a good handyman to be honest.” Sir Ben, who also owns Woodlands Castle in nearby Taunton, tells me he is descended from Charles II. He is the 7th Baronet, having inherited the title in 1962.
He made his own fortune in the City before building up a transport and timber empire, which he sold.
We arrive in the “King’s bedroom”, which has a bed that can sleep seven.
With a grin, he says: “This room is for the naughty guests.”
He shows me the stash of sex toys plus pink fluffy handcuffs, whips and a book on tantric sex.
The lucky lady who wins Sir Ben’s heart must not be from a country that begins with the letter “I” or have green in the country’s flag. But he will make an exception for northern Indian and Italian women because they are “very good looking” there.
“What colour are your eyes?” he demands. “Green,” I tell him, almost apologetically. (He prefers blue or brown.)
Afterwards, we go for a stroll in the grounds and Sir Ben invites me for a ride on his rope swing.
Here, he tells me how he is good pals with the former Ukip leader Nigel Farage, who once joked to him, “Whose missus is younger? Yours or mine?”
He goes on to say how Nigel can drink anyone under the table.
Sir Ben says: “You can meet him at our engagement party.” Wow, so I have passed the girlfriend test. I can’t help but feel a tiny pang of pride, like winning a very unconventional lottery.
But I had better move fast. On Saturday, celebrities and royals from all over the world are expected at a soiree at the house, paying up to £2,000 to stay.
The bash is being organised by events company Blacklist-UK and will have fire-breathers, fetish acts and guests in Fifty Shades Of Grey masquerade. Sir Ben will be very much present, networking to find The One.
He says: “I’ve not seen the guest list but I’m hoping to find my future wife. You will come, won’t you?”
With that, it is time for me to make my excuses and leave.
Sadly, not in my chopper.
