I came to The Hour late, despite the fact that it contains all my favourite things - feisty girl reporters, glamorous period-appropriate outfits, Anna Chancellor - but now I wonder what I was doing with my life before I pretended to be Bel Rowley on a daily basis. Of course, I try to be Bel, but deep down I’m Freddie - scruffy, principled, a bit of a sulky child and totally brilliant. Ahem.
Which brings us to the object of this week’s lust. Ben Whishaw. Freddie. Q. Peter Pan, in an upcoming West End play with Dame Judi of Dench, who he probably knows well enough to call ‘Jude’. He probably even has her mobile number. He probably texts her all the time. That’s just how cool he is. And did I mention the cheekbones? You could cause someone a serious injury with those.
At this point my girlfriend of ten years (who, by the time you’re reading this, will be my wife) points out, “Baby, you noticed he’s a boy, right?”
Yes, Mr Whishaw lacks the requisite number of X chromosomes to be my regular type. Yes, he has stubble in places the objects of my attraction do not usually have stubble. I don’t think he has a penis, though, I prefer to think that he keeps a bottle of Grey Goose vodka down there for emergencies. Or perhaps a flask of tea. So he’s a boy, I’m a lesbian. Our love was not meant to be. But who cares? He’s pretty.
As well as having cheekbones so sharp they sliced through today’s bout of writer’s block, he’s not too shabby in the acting stakes.
He first came to my attention as the scent-obsessed murderer in Perfume, although IMBD reliably informs me that I’d seen him in half a dozen films before that, giving solid, reliable performances in smaller roles before getting to smoulder in the limelight, first playing sexually ambiguous, teddy-bear clutching Sebastian Flyte in Brideshead Revisited and then as poet John Keats in Bright Star, where even Victorian sideburns and a nasty case of tuberculosis failed to dim his beauty.
He even pulled off playing the notoriously-hard-to-get-right Ariel to Helen Mirren’s Prospero in a film of The Tempest, banishing all my English Lit A Level-related PTSD about the play.
His most recent -and biggest budget - effort is the new Q in the rebooted Bond films. Gone are the creepy old dudes who like making shit explode, and in their place a speccy, parka-wearing geek with emo glasses and plenty of snark. With his cardigans and his glasses and Scrabble mug and disapproving glare, he makes me come over all unnecessary - and this is a film that also stars the girlcrush of my heart, Naomi Harris (and Judi Dench. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You would).
Also, if you scroll through the ‘00Q’ tag on Tumblr, lots of very kind people who are good with Photoshop have posted pictures where it looks as though he’s making out with Daniel Craig. Hey, if you’re lusting after your not-usually-preferred gender, you might as well go the whole way.
Actually, that one goes for Messrs Craig and Whishaw as well. Just make sure you press ‘record’, boys.