All my friends fancy nice men. In fact, all the women I know fancy nice men. It’s a thing women do. My friend Zara, for instance? She really fancies Ryan Gosling.
“Don’t you like Ryan Gosling, Jacinta?” She asks me. “He’s so cute. He’s such a nice guy.”
“Er, yeah,” I say half-heartedly. “I wouldn’t chuck him out of bed for eating biscuits.”
My friend Katie likes Mark Ruffalo. My friend Jenny really likes Johnny Depp. My auntie likes Gorge Clooney. My mum really likes Kevin Costner. The weirdest celebrity crush any female I know has on any famous men is my friend Lizzy, who loves Özil. It is actual love and everything, in the off chance Özil happens to be reading this, and be single, he should totally get in touch, I could totally, as Americans say, hook him up.
But I have a terrible, terrible secret. I fancy Bad People. I fancy Bad People, and I don’t know why.
It started off in the nineties, when I was a teenager, round at my dad’s house. My dad and my stepbrother were slagging off Michael Portillo. I think we were watching the Nine O’Clock News, though it might have been Have I Got News For You.
“God, what a twat,” said my stepbrother.
My dad agreed. “Can’t stand the sight of him,” he said.
“They should call him Michael Portaloo,” said my stepbrother, quite wittily.
I looked at the TV screen and bit my lip thoughtfully.
“But don’t you think he has nice lips?” I said. “I mean, for a Tory MP. He has really nice lips. I think he has a really nice face….I think he’s quite a good-looking guy, really.”
My dad looked at me, an expression on his face which is officially known as completely aghast. I mean, I think we all know that for most men it’s hard enough when you start to realize that your teenage daughter has these, like, awakening sexual feelings and stuff, but I think when these awakening sexual feelings involve Conservative MPs, the pain can be almost unbearable.
But it doesn’t stop there. Or, rather, it didn’t stop there. It got worse and worse and worse and worse. Another Bad Person I really fancy is Nick Clegg - I can’t help it, I know it’s wrong, but I just think he’s so adorable. I really genuinely think I would have a hard time not masturbating over a leaked sex tape of his, and I actually don’t masturbate over leaked sex tapes on moral grounds, literally. But I really think I might do it if Cleggy had a sex tape leaked. Whenever I see his sexy little innocent face, I first of all feel desire, and then I remember that I hate him, officially, and so try to replace all the desire with pure hatred but the desire part makes the hatred feel all weak and diluted and lazy and resentful. I look at his face and think: “Remember you hate him, Jacinta. Remember you don’t actually find him actually attractive, your body just thinks you do.”
It’s like my brain has to send my body important messages about not fancying Nick Clegg or something. It’s an awful infliction, to be honest. Other Bad People I fancy, and please don’t judge me too much for this, include a young David Cameron - have you seen that picture of him lounging around with a load of other rich people in one of those silly Eton waistcoat things? I know I should hate him, and everything he stands for, and believe me, I do, I just also think he looks quite sexy and gorgeous and delicious and dreamy, kind of like August Diehl, but with a silly Eton waistcoat on.
I also quite fancy Jeremy Clarkson but I’m so ashamed about that that I just don’t want to talk about it. One of my greatest achievements, however, is not fancying Richard Dawkins anymore. I used to really fancy him, and had a very complicated sexual fantasy involving me being a strict Muslim (not sure if this is Islamophobic or not? It it is, then just replace with a different religion, like Christian fundamentalist or Scientologist or something) and having to appear on a panel show with Dawkins and us fighting the whole time and then in the green room us arguing even more and getting all steamy and opinionated and outraged and stuff and then him converting me, in a very steamy, opinionated and green-roomy kind of way, to militant atheism. If there is anyone-else out there who also suffers from the terrible fancying Richard Dawkins affliction, though, there’s a really simple, effective solution. Just follow him on Twitter for two minutes and you’ll be cured. I fancy Bad People, not total dicks.
But I guess I’d better not tell you how I feel about Sarah Palin? I’ll save that for another day, I think. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you or anything like that.