Another friend has seriously saucy dreams about Will Young (the fact that he’s gay means nothing to her), another lusts after Richard Hammond (only since the crash - eh?) and yet another bought a life size photo of Vigo Mortesan from Lord of the Rings and hung it over her bed. Her husband left shortly after.
Perhaps crushes are our way of maintaining that lighthearted, fluttering emotion we experience at the beginning of a relationship before real life takes over and we are trawling around Halfords on a Saturday afternoon looking for roof boxes with our men. Who wouldn't prefer an emotionally attuned god of rock ? Or god of stage and cross-dressing? And I guess it's only fair that the boys get Angelina or Jennifer to counter-balance all those hours spent pretending to care whether those cushion covers match the sofa.
Though I am not as prone to developing crushes as you might think, I have recently developed a new little one which is embarrassing for an entirely different reason. Because to admit the new object of my affection I have to admit to doing something which I haven't even confessed to my best friends: Micky Norcross - 'The Only Way is Essex'- you have been warned!