IF scammers would only learn how to punctuate, they would surely be far more effective.

“UK Government Living Expenses Subsidy Scheme: The new year is coming and we will start disbursing living allowance for 2023-2024, Let you face winter better.”

Thus began the scam text I received on Friday, which went on to suggest that I should act fast.

“The application channel will be closed on October 26, 2024. If you fail to apply within the deadline, we will regard you as giving up receiving this benefit. Please update your information in the link: [a https://tinyurl.com one]. Thank you for supporting the UK Government Living Expenses Office.”

Readers of The National will be well aware that the UK Government Living Expenses Office does not exist, and if it did it would not be thanking anyone for their support. The weird phrasing, poor punctuation, a dubious web address and a call for urgent action are all hallmarks of a scam.

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But it’s depressing to ponder how many people in urgent need of help with the cost of living, worried about the coming winter, might skim-read the message and click the link.

It makes sense that scammers casting a wide net play on the financial anxiety so many in the UK are experiencing. Those who take a more targeted approach can gain a much deeper understanding of what makes any individual vulnerable.

Shortly after I received the scam text, a notification on my phone announced the sentencing of the “UK’s worst catfish”, a man named Alexander McCartney (below) who police described as a “dangerous, relentless, cruel paedophile”.

The subject of catfishing – ie, pretending to be someone else in order to manipulate and exploit a victim – was brought back onto the agenda earlier this month thanks to a Netflix adaptation of Sweet Bobby, a podcast series that had listeners hooked back in 2021.

The victim, Londoner Kirat Assi, spent nine years communicating online with the Bobby of the title, only to eventually discover she had been the victim of a mind-bogglingly elaborate deception. When she learned the truth she went to the police – only to be told that catfishing in itself is not a crime.

Listeners and viewers have been quick to suggest Assi was gullible and naïve in the extreme to believe the increasingly outlandish story she was being told, and to ultimately be coercively controlled by someone she had never met.

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Perhaps that is true – or perhaps it’s there but for the grace of God go so many of us. Assi was single and feeling under pressure to find a partner. This particular vulnerability made her an easy target, but then doesn’t everyone have their own Achilles heel?

The horrifying crimes of McCartney, and another extraordinary catfishing story involving a Canadian band, highlight the particular vulnerability of girls and young women who feel marginalised in their offline lives due to their sexuality.

The details of McCartney’s crimes make for unbearable reading. The 26-year-old initially posed as a girl online in order to befriend victims aged 10 to 16 who were either lesbians or exploring their sexuality.

Once he had obtained indecent images from them, he revealed he had duped them and began a campaign of blackmail, demanding more material and even coercing them into involving their siblings.

Among the charges for which he was convicted was manslaughter, as he drove one 13-year-old victim in the US to take her own life by threatening to send to her father the pictures she had shared.

Her father died by suicide 18 months later, wracked with guilt for leaving his gun where she could access it. He died not knowing the context of his daughter’s desperate act.

Compared to this unthinkable horror, the story told in Fanatical: The Catfishing Of Tegan And Sara might seem trivial. In this case the targets were adult women, and many of them were imperfect victims.

When identical twins Tegan and Sara (above) first came on to the indie music scene in their native Calgary in 1998, they were quickly embraced by an increasingly dedicated – and at times obsessive – fan base.

The pair were not just openly gay, but also outspoken advocates for women’s and LGBT rights.

But some fans were not content with buying albums, going to gigs and securing autographs. They sought out personal information about the sisters, too. One even wrote disturbing sexual fan-fiction about them.

Someone began impersonating Tegan around 2008, two years before the release of the documentary Catfish, from which the term for the practice derives. The imposter – who is referred to as “Fake Tegan” or “Fegan” in the pair’s new documentary – had obtained confidential information about the sisters, including the photo pages of their passports.

Over the years, “Fegan” struck up intimate online relationships with a number of fans, but Tegan did not speak out for fear of making matters worse. It was only after she listened to the Sweet Bobby podcast that she decided to go public with the story.

It’s easy to say that the best way for all of this to be avoided is for women to stop engaging in intimate activities online, with people they have never met.

But the human need for connection can easily override common sense, and those who seek to exploit and abuse know that. They also know that in many cultures, attitudes to gay and lesbian relationships make their targets particularly vulnerable.

Assi believes the law must change in order to deter people from catfishing, especially in light of the development of AI and deep fakes. Public awareness of the practice is much higher than it was when she was duped, but paradoxically there is a danger her own story – as extreme and convoluted as it is – might inspire copycatfishing.

Many people are quick to judge and blame the victim, confident it would never happen to them, but we all have weaknesses. We just need to hope no-one is motivated to put time and effort into exploiting them.