The internet itself nearly broke down earlier this week when news erupted that Captain Charlie Brooker is engaged to ex Blue Peter presenter Konnie Huq. Nerdy girls everywhere (but predominantly in the UK) began weeping uncontrollably into their laptops – so weak with disappointment that they could barely lift a finger to hammer out a bitter and twisted comment on Twitter.
This all came as a bit of a shock to me, because I thought I was one of the few girls who swooned over Brooker with infinite amounts of admiration. But when the news hit me on Wednesday whilst I was idly checking Twitter during a dull moment, I hadn’t anticipated that I wasn’t quite alone in my feelings.
Tweeted writer and editor Jane Bradley. Panic-stricken, and desperately hoping that this was merely a rumour I hurriedly tapped out a response with juddering fingers, as my heart began to shatter. I stared at the screen, my heart beating so quickly it nearly pounded right out of my chest and onto the desk in front of me, as the painful seconds ticked by while I waited for a response.And that’s when I got the second shock of the day – there were more women out there who were in love with Charlie Brooker. God damn my centre-of-the-universe complex. Anxious and heartbroken, I prowled Twitter in search of these other
delusional hussies women. It didn’t take too long to find them. A quick search on Twitter threw up hundreds of girl authored angry mis-spelled Konnie Huq hate messages as they writhed in their bitterness. The Mean Girls were everywhere.
What was happening? How did so many women suddenly fall for Charlie Brooker? And where was I when it was all happening? Then I discovered another Tweep, Blogger and Domestic Slut Alex Sheppard who also appeared to be experiencing some similar feelings to me:
Then things got really weird and the Brooker-Huq engagement was all anyone was talking about. My brother emailed to tell me about it, the news was scrawled all over Facebook, details were being furiously sought on Google, even my parents were blaring the news down the telephone. What the hell was going on? It felt like my whole world was falling apart. Even one of my best friends suddenly announced from nowhere her secret desires for CB, updating her Facebook status to “Brooker – we could have been something”
How dare she? How DARE she?! We lived together for two years and not once during that time, when I would haplessly devour hours (total exaggeration) of conversation time by talking about Charlie Brooker did she mention that she too was hankering after him.
My crush on Charlie Brooker dates way back to the age of 11 – and therefore, is more hardcore and more closely akin to
being an obsessive stalker love than everybody else’s. I used to pinch my brother’s PC Zone magazines and read on CB’s reviews, and then when I was a little older I’d thumb my way to the ‘Sick Notes’ column at the back of the magazine, which Brooker wrote back in 1998. Of course, I was too stupid young to really understand any of it, and most of the time I had to ask my older brother to explain why it was funny. And thus the swooning started.
During the despicable non-year of 2007, I fell head-over-heels all over again. My actual romantic-life in shredded poo-covered tatters, I pinned all of my hopes to some day becoming Charlie Brooker’s beloved girlfriend, and needless to point out, that romantic fantasy has remained in some form to the day.
Anyway, back to Wednesday, my working day was completely disrupted. At one point someone came to my desk with some work and I shooed them away telling them not to bother me as I just found out my future husband is marrying someone else.
The day dragged on, with more exclamation filled emails and text messages popping up all over the place with various people revelling in shock at the news. Feeling somewhat destroyed, heartbroken and seeking refuge from the madness, I sent The Novelist an email entitled “It’s over” with the link to the online story. He didn’t reply for a few hours and pretty soon, I too was starting to completely lose it.
Things continued to spiral into madness and I couldn’t work out what I was reeling from the most; the fact Charlie Brooker was marrying Konnie Huq
and not me or that thousands of other girls also had whopping great, mildly obsessive crushes on him. Then Alex tweeted the only logical solution for this heartbreaking insanity:
I was about to ask her to send me the number of said support group, should she hear of one actually being set up, when The Novelist finally emailed me back.
“Whilst I am sorry for your loss I am not sorry because for a second I half thought you were dumping me by email.”
Then, I guess I realised that this whole situation was, in fact, completely bonkers. And right there and then I realised that in the form of a Microsoft Outlook window,
God The Novelist reality was staring me right in the face and I decided that I should probably lay my 15 year crush on Charlie Brooker to rest.
And that I probably shouldn’t use Twitter.