Something is wrong, very wrong. I have developed a crush on Leonardo DiCaprio. Oh that’s nothing, I hear you all say. Well, the problem is that I am 24. Twenty-four years old! Never a Brosette or a Jason Donovan fan, my teenage fantasies tended to centre around New Kids On The Block and Corey Haim, but I was 15. At 15 it is normal to have a relationship with a poster and to believe that there is some depth to your liaison. I remember going to a New Kids concert, convinced that I even though I was in the 4th row, Joey McIntyre was telling ME that I had the Right Stuff and was his Cover Girl, and not any of the other thousand Blockettes. I remember looking at my posters and eerily believing that Corey Haim was actually looking at me. But at 24?!
I have had two serious boyfriends (unless you count my poster men), spent 4 years at University, lived abroad and have a interesting job but I am seriously infatuated with an American heartthrob. When Leo recently came to London for the premiere of the Beach, I contemplated leaving work early so I could slink past the Odeon Leicester Square. I imagined standing out amidst the sea of screaming fans. I wouldn’t be like that; I would be cooler, older, more sophisticated and sure he would be able to spot me through the heaving pubescent hormones surrounding me.
The fact that I actually work in the world of film PR does not really help my crush because instead of reminding myself that I live in the real world, I believe that one day I might very well have to work on a Leo film, even if it is in ten years. Then you see I would wrangle my way into the premiere and this time I would not have to remain invisible. He would notice me and no, it would not just be a physical thing – no siree – he would want me, need me, recognise that a girl-next-door like myself would be the answer to all his woes.
My fantasy went to a higher plane when I began to recreate that scene from Romeo and Juliet. I would be dancing at the after-party; Leo would spot me once again. Unable to control himself and shaking with lust, he would saunter over, oblivious to the charms of the Nicole Appletons and Melanie Sykes, and place his hand over the necessary fish tank. I would lift my head, briefly interrupted from my impossibly sexy dancing and smile coyly. I would say something dazzling and witty, probably topped up with a memorable comment about the fish. The next day our love would be splashed across the papers. Forget being locked in a bathroom with Nicole Appleton, this guy would be ready to marry me in a bathroom, let alone anything else. Ahem, you see, this is serious.
I recently had dinner with a friend and after a few bottles of wine I made my confession. We indulged in true girlie analysis and instead of having her tell me to sort it out and grow up, we indulged in my fantasies, concluding that yes, it could happen. I worked in the right industry and one day, one day, I might just meet him and there was no reason for the attraction not to be mutual. This was not what I needed. The other point of debate was what leads us to have these obsessions? Was my relationship lacking excitement? Was my life missing something?
When you are younger, I guess you don’t need to question it because it is normal. You have probably not experienced love or any of the other great things soon to come your way and so to a fantasy is healthy. But at my age? Luckily with the furore of The Beach somewhat abating, I have managed to calm myself down. Until the next time maybe. Let’s hope not.