Originally posted on greenfairydotcom

Sexual desire is a pernicious thing. Often dependent on no more than the angle of a smile or turn of phrase, and completely independent of any other qualities you may ultimately desire in a lover. I have male friends who are absolutely lovely; sweet, kind, funny, intelligent - everything you could possibly want in a boyfriend, but the thought of sleeping with them makes me shudder all over with queasiness and run flinching from the room.

It was with this dichotomy in mind that I, sitting in front of Have I Got News For You last night, was struck by the disquieting thought:

"Shit. I think I fancy Boris Johnson."

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