I'm sorry I don't have an excuse for this!

A schoolboy crush on a 20 something film star, if it hits you when you're touching 30 and over a decade out of school, can be quite discomfiting!

I remember watching an extremely sanitised version of Blue Lagoon as a schoolkid and falling head-over-heels in love with the then nubile Brooke Shields (yeah well, we all have moments in our past that underscore our dodgy taste, don't we?). I had a huge poster of the love of my life (a rather flattering black and white affair from Archie's that I had to wait a month to receive after I had paid in full) put up in my room and wrote her mushy poems in a tattered, but lovingly maintained, diary that, happily, has not survived the ravages of the succeeding years. My parents were scandalised but rationalised it as a rebellious display of raging hormones and new found sexuality.

Now, of course, things are much easier. I don't have to wait a month for gratification. I have google images, imdb, facebook and orkut fan pages and scores of celebrity tracker websites- all vying for my time, and the opportunity to satiate my prurient longing (sic).

What I don't have, however, is rationale. My constant rebellion has found other, more fruitful avenues to express itself. My raging hormones have settled down into an efficient, harmonious rhythm and my sexuality is hardly new found anymore!

And yet, despite the hilarity of the situation, I find myself succumbing to this deep, urgent need to do a quick google. I haven't seen if she photographs well against white backgrounds or in swimsuits or in natural light or without cans and cans of matte effect make up. Perhaps I'll strike lucky this time? Maybe her phone number will turn up on the 69th page? There could be a contest, lurking somewhere on page 101, that gets me a dinner date with her? Sure it's a chance in a million, but with a billion people in this country alone those've got be great odds, right?

I will, probably, have to hit the gym and get my very own set of six packs, just in case the date thingie does happen (don't even think about saying it!). I'll have to hire a stylist. I'll have to get myself a PR person, just in case the date thingie doesn't happen, to get me to all the dos she frequents. A few dance lessons won't hurt either, methinks.

I'm told her current boyfriend has a substantial fan following in his own right so I'll probably need to start and fund a few fan clubs of my own (suitably financed through proxy off-shore accounts and untraceable, looped back wire transfers). Ah, what the hell, while I'm at it I may as well buy myself a couple of pre-emptive cosmetic enhancements courtesy the marvels of modern medical science and technology.

I wonder if my family will be as understanding this time around. I mean, its a sordid tale underneath all this hilarity. But love hurts, right?

Sigh...