Crushes:

‘My kind of work is very intense.  The trouble with me; is that I completely fling myself into it.  I get giddy.  I get terrible crushes on jobs’

-        Maxine Peake. 

Today is St Valentine’s Day, when we officially celebrate the beloved in our lives.  Or maybe: we celebrate the possibility of those who may potentially become our beloved.  As a severely lapsed Catholic, I know it is unofficially a Saints Day, but not a Holy Day Of Obligation.  So, there is no potential responsibility for me to avoid meat.  Or have a crucifix of ashes on an ever receding forehead. 

As you may or may not know; St Valentine was executed by Claudius II, for marrying Christian couples in 496AD.  As with most of Catholicism; there is more than a hint of sleight of hand in what established people call; ‘the facts’.  He may not have existed at all.  There could be several Roman wedding planners.  But there he is, the patron saint of married/engaged couples.  And epilepsy. And Beekeeping.  And, if you’re completely cynical about the whole process: licenced harassment of someone you’d quite like to share a coffee with. 

Ah, a crush doesn’t quite cover it; does it?  It can go one of two ways: either, a potential car crash.  Or: A potential dangle; at the end of another person’s whim.  My first real crush was a girl in Sixth Form.  Encouraged and prodded by several of my so-called friends, I gave this person a Valentine’s Card.  Not knowing, of course that this was all part of a ‘hilarious’ prank.  For the remaining eighteen months of our A Levels, we never exchanged pleasantries.  I mean now as a real boy; rather than a fat teenage puppet; I understand that I had absolutely no chance.  The odds were roughly akin to; let’s say Jordan Pickford winning a juggling contest.  Or Theresa May fessing up that Brexit, was due to her fancying a chance at being Prime Minister. 

To paraphrase Emily Dickinson, if hope is ‘the thing with feathers’; stupidity is the fat boy with a Valentine. 

Fast forward to the halcyon days of ‘2013’.  A golden age, not of jet packs and lunar colonies.  But of trips to Manchester for journalism workshops with Jay Rayner.  Moving into a flat, on the trendy/damp side of Liverpool.  Having a Canadian Twitter crush, which I followed and then she followed me.  From this point on, follows a whole cavalcade of messages, emails, photos.  About six months later, I realised I was just the proverbial ‘bit of fun’; whilst something was rotten in the state of Quebec.

We stayed friends, but I was already feeling like the fat kid with a cheap card.   One day, the contact ceased.  Three months whizzed by.  Still nothing.  I did an extensive period of ghosting across every channel of social media.  On reflection, I realised I’d been taken for the proverbial sucker.  She emailed me (which I’d arranged to land in the Trash), explaining the reasons why and, told me that most empty of platitudes ‘that the person who I ended up with would be very lucky’.

I know.  Makes the heart sing and the flesh cringe at the same time; doesn’t it?#

They are funny things, crushes. The weird thing is, I still have them.  The names have been changed to protect the innocent.  I mean, I am friends with some of these people.  Time was, in my mid–twenties I’d have a crush on children’s/yoof TV presenters.  I mean, that is a weird one, isn’t it?  Both are designed for people who shouldn’t be watching TV in the first place; let alone have romantic inclinations. 

Now: it’s British Oscar Winning Actress.  I’ll watch anything she’s in, even if she does make the odd duffer.  Or: French Oscar Winning Actress.  A few years ago, she was highly praised for appearing in a dull/worthy film.  I found this film the Belgian equivalent of someone crying into a hanky.  But everytime she appeared, I thought: ‘there’s my crush’.

Regular readers will know that I’m a socialist/menace to society.  I also have political crushes.  Not just people that I agree with politically.  But also, people I find attractive.  In this bracket, Mancunian Actress. She’s extremely underrated, but I also find her attractive for her left-wing views; even though she’s not my type.  It’s a weird one that and I have several political crushes. The fun we could have, discussing the dismantling of capitalism.

What happens if you meet these people?  I worked in a low-paid call centre job for nine years.  In between being sworn at/accused of being the root cause of all that is wrong in society… occasionally, a celebrity called in.  Some people were really nice.  Daytime TV Quiz Show Host: lovely man.  1980’s Scouse DJ/Crush: exceptionally rude. 

Of course, once you meet your crush; there is the endless, burning, unspoken question.  Do I want to spend time with this person?  Is this someone I can share my dreams/ a living space with this person?  What is the potential of me having an argument over directions on a long car journey/the right department in Ikea? 

My wife is that person.  We met when I made a lame subtweet about Holby City, a programme I am now as emotionally invested in as her.  She, in her infinite wisdom has taught what real love is all about: Consensual.  Supportive.  The platinum level of friendship, with an immortality bolt-on.  We’ve been through as much bad times as we have good.  The good times, get better with time.  The bad times, fade away with as much an application of the same thing. 

A crush, to paraphrase Byron is friendship without the wings.  Love is a mystifying, delicious, scary, dizzying force. Be wary of your crushes, today and always.  But if you decide to take the chance and it works… you have found the rarest, most purest thing in this world. 

Why not give it a go? You have nothing to lose and conversely, much to gain.