Not a love of the pure and attainable variety, nor the sort of love that makes you pretend to like Acid Jazz. Twas not the kind of love that makes one hold in ones muffin top whilst simultaneously thrusting out one’s breasts and most certainly not the kind of love that stands in a alley in a full-length beige mac on dark night.
Oh no, this is blog love. Admittedly the guy in question, Stuart Heritage, may be one foxy piece of ass but that is categorically not why love was stirred. For I am a professional, a serious mother ducker. I cannot be swayed by hair the colour of golden corn, the body of Adnois or charming wit. No no, I am a sucker for a blog that’s witty/sarcastic/funny/generally epicness. So yes I fell in love. Seriously, don’t take my word for it read this and you’ll understand where I am coming from.
But I should not speak of this love especially the foxy piece of ass part. Because of the Greg Wallace incident. What? You mean I haven’t told you about the Greg Wallace affair*?
Ok, well it happened like this … A new series of Masterchef began and I idly tweeted out something vague like ‘Phwoarrr Greg Wallace is back on our screens‘ (what can I say – I freaking love pudding). Two minutes later and Greg tweets that @mammasaurusblog is watching Masterchef.
HOLY GUACAMOLE the Wallacemeister tweeted about me,an insignificant earthling, I needed to step up to the plate and tweet again (note carefully worded food reference) but I bottled out, other than brushing my boobs up against Phil Jupitus’s sweaty arm at a Bloc Party gig back in circa 2007 this way my biggest celeb-interaction.
A few days later I plucked up courage (gin-in-a-tin was possibly involved) “@GreggAWallace can lick my buttery biscuit base any day of the week “. And I wait… The response comes… ‘Cheeky’. Random odd tweetings follow, nothing regular, nothing of substance. Until one evening I sent something to the effect of ‘@GreggAWallace can lick my spoon anytime’ . Then it happens. The thing. The two words to crush me. The fatal 2 worded tweet ‘I’m married‘.
I head butt the laptop, down a can of GT&PG and run a bath. Fuck. That line, the dont cross line ? Did i just moonwalk over it?
A week later i get an email from another blogger, it’s a link to a newspaper article covering the ‘Greg Wallace annouces split from wife amidst rumours that hes found some new lady friend on Twitter’. Under the link are 3 words…
‘Is that you?’
So now i love from afar, a repressed love, we can all learn one thing from this…my love should most definately be silent.
*Not an affair in the bouncy bouncy pumpy pumpy sense of the word