I have a confession to make. I have a man crush.
Now I’m not embarrassed about this fact. Time was when it would be
taboo…but all the success of recent popular Hollywood bromances (Superbad, Sherlock Holmes and Tallageda Nights to name but a few), it’s now just as
ordinary as wearing a green one-sie complete with purple top-hat and neon sequined
wellies in Shoreditch.
But I digress – back to my man crush. It’s the lavishly lyrical
lead singer of the Arctic Monkeys,
contemporary poet, and all round cool-mother ******, Alex Turner.
And as luck would have it, I just so happen to be going out with a
girl who knows a guy who’s friends with a dog who once slept with a duck who
used to swim in the back yard pool of a guy who used to be someway involved
with the Arctic Monkeys. So Alex and me are basically best mates already. But
again, I digress.
Through my lil’ lady’s connections (sexist or cheeky? You decide),
we managed to swindle ourselves a pair of tickets to see Mr. Turner and co.
rocking - and I do mean rocking - their stuff at The O2 (VIP suite, thank you very much!) and
he, and they, were...outrageous!

I mean come on - that's balls...that's sheer, what you see is what
you get, look me in the eye and I'll tell you who you are, balls! Phewee! So,
my ladies, lords and gentlemen, that is why I’ve got a man crush on Alex
Turner.
Care to disagree? Pah –
you can’t disagree with that. The guy’s a single-handed tour de force! And
there’s nothing as enviable as swagger – it’s just completely captivating. And
I for one think Turner pulls it off with effortless aplomb.
Just a thought…
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