My crush on Jeremy Corbyn is no longer cool

There are some crushes that ought to be crushed. When I was about nine, I fancied our village vicar — he had a pleasant, boring face and would throw Mars bars into the congregation during sermons.

Things came to a halt after I saw him by chance at a local swimming pool. Underneath his cassock was a lawn of hair so dark, you couldn’t see his skin. Even his arms were furred. I was, in the way of many nine-year-olds, ruthless in my judgement. I stopped fancying him at once and avoided him at church, calling him ‘Gorilla Priest’ in my head.

Years on, I find myself contending with another embarrassing crush. I have a bit of a thing for Jeremy Corbyn — or ‘Jessica Chastain’ as I like to call him in company. It’s much easier saying ‘Gosh Jessica Chastain is hot,’ than saying the same about Jeremy Corbyn. People do get surprised that I’m bringing Jessica Chastain up — she hasn’t been in any good films recently, and I’m straight — but they don’t seem to mind.