Now Playing: An episode of 'Murder, She Wrote' in which a dog is found to be the serial killer.
I was chatting to Martin yesterday about people on whom I have a crush.
Now, to stop this becoming silly, there have to be ground rules. In this post, here, today, now, a crush is someone you've entertained involuntary sexual fantasies about for at least two years on the trot.
So, no, Nick from Kajagoogoo doesn't cut it. Nor Princess Di, despite the fact that I was a founder of the university Diana For Queen society (thank god in the days before web pages), and imperiously refused interviews to a Swedish teev channel after her death (like, shyah, Swedish teev hounded her to her grave). But my fantasies about Ze Stoopid Sloane, although ribald, were not involuntary, so they don't count.
Of course, there are the obligatory lesbian baby-dyke crushes, like Nicola Cowper, Kate Hardie or Charlotte Gainsbourg. But dykes always end up blogging endlessly about women of dubious sexuality on childrens' teev, and frankly, it becomes tedious.
(At this stage, I'm not willing to enter revelatory mode regarding sexual fantasies about trees and rubber tires.)
No, I'm more fascinated by the male crushes -- and my other crushes are all seriously ancient ugly old men. Top of the list - Donald Sutherland. Close second at fifteen years crush status - Christopher Walken. Bringing up the rear (ooer, missus), Arnold Schwarzenegger, oooh how embarrassing, a relative newcomer at just five years of crush.
How come no-one fantasises about old women like they do old men? I mean, you wouldn't kick Helen Mirren out, but by and large, male mingers gain much greater sexual status as they get older. I've seen blokes who would definitely rate a three out of ten in their teens and twenties attract the attention more merited by a nine in their late thirties, purely by virtue of being either single or up for it. How come someone like "Steve" Norris can even beg a shag?