the (red head) way to my heart

I have a confession to make. I love ginger boys. While most girls my age blue tac Robert Pattinson and Zac Efron over their walls, next to my bed is none other than Mr. Rupert Grint. At Primary School I simply followed the masses and, to my shame, I was a gingeriest. In my defence though every child was, because being different made you stand out. I still feel sorry for David Stubberfield, the lone redhead in Year 5 Oakfield Juniors. It’s hard to pin point exactly when my transformation happened, when did I began to be attracted to the red headed men of the world? Maybe it was innate, buried beneath a fear of retribution from the other kids, would I have wanted to be associated with the one person everyone else was picking on? Actually, I do seem to recall trying to befriend David once. I was Tinkerbell, he was Peter Pan and no, this was not a dream. We were both at a Peter Pan themed birthday party and just like the little fairy I was rejected. But I was only eight years old and hardly left heartbroken, the incident didn‘t particularly have me emotionally scared for life. However it is true that we always want, what we can not have. One thing I always relate to my childhood is Simply Red. My mum loves them. If there was a theme tune to my youth it would be Fairground which always reminds me of my mother spinning around the living room with the Dyson in hand, the TV off for once, and her uncharacteristically singing along. One thing that always surprised my mum however was how a rather unattractive redhead, not particularly in possession of a ribbed body or brilliant style , could be a ladies man. She was completely baffled and although she loved Mick Hucknell’s music she would never have been throwing her knickers at him the way I dread to imagine she did to god knows which pop star in the 1970s, Cliff or somebody like that. Nevertheless, I did not share my mums view in the matter. Naturally I am in no way attracted to Mr Hucknell, I’m sad to say his a bit too old for me and slightly unattractive. But he has the most amazing voice, the man is testimony to the concept that if you’re in a band you are automatically elevated into a different league. And of course he is a redhead. With age I have become wiser, I’ve learnt that being weird and wonderful IS attractive. Hence my theory behind this strange attraction emerges. An attraction that in my near teenage years would only go from strength to strength. Ron Weasley came into my life. Harry Potter’s brilliantly funny best friend strolled his way into my heart. From the age of seven I have been an avid fan of the Harry Potter books, the anticipation I felt waiting for the fifth, sixth and finally the seventh books is indescribable. Each of my books is falling apart, all of them having been read about eight times over. I simply love them. But of course my favourite was never the tall, dark, handsome and mysterious Harry Potter. No, it was none other than the youngest Weasley brother. Mr Ronald Weasley is the comic relief to the dangerous threat of Lord Voldermort. I can’t help but laugh out loud while reading his immortal lines, rolling on the floor at his terrible faux pas’ and his disastrous love life. I defiantly have a special soft spot for Ron. Soon my love of the character was transferred to a different redhead all together. Ron Weasley was adapted for the big screen by the brilliant Rupert Grint. In the first film I loved how adorable he was, the little eleven year old boy with a mop of the ever fascinating ginger hair and a heart melting smile. I seem to remember someone once watching the trailer for the most recent Harry Potter film and laughing: “Oh god look at the state of Ron Weasley these days, he used to be so cute.” I was instantly insulted on his behalf, but also my own. I felt a tinge of embarrassment, this was the one celebrity I defiantly fancied. He was my guilty pleasure. Even now I somehow find him attractive, and my dream became a reality at Reading Festival 2009. While browsing the army surplus store in the campsite my friend turned to me, knowing how excited I would be, and simply said: “Someone just said that Ron Weasley is here.” Upon hearing this simple sentence I went crazy. “I must find him and rape him!” I screeched. Then somebody behind me began to laugh. As I turned around it was truly a movie moment. In slow motion I turned, I heard angels singing as a beam of sun light shined through the clouds and there he was. Mr Rupert Grint. Possibly the best, yet most embarrassing moment of my life as I began screaming and leaping about like a giant blonde frog. I won’t lie, the feeling was not mutual. The poor boy looked rather terrified, but they rejection did not dampen my spirits. I can’t particularly explain my obsession, but I think it is simply a fantasy. Many young girls grow up wishing to be a princess and to be a princess, you must marry a prince. I wished I could meet one, and the fairytale would become reality. I thought it through and logically I had a greater chance of meeting Prince Harry. William was always a bit older than me, Harry was more my age and he has always seemed so fun. Maybe when I was older, I thought, I might meet him in a club or share a taxi with him. The hair didn’t hurt much either. I personally believe this is where it all started, wishing to be a princess. I’ve never had a red headed boyfriend, I probably never will, because I simply admire them. I respect the uniqueness, I love that they stand out, not because they are cocky but because they are a red headed. I think truly I’m just like every other person in the country; tall dark and handsome makes my knees quiver every time. But the odd red head will always make my heart flutter.