Kurt Russell & I

For many years now, I have been in love with Kurt Russell.

To clarify, I know absolutely nothing about Kurt Russell, the real person, save he's with Goldie Hawn and is male.  And American.  That's it, and I think that's too much.

My love for Kurt began when I saw The Thing.  I was brought up exclusively on horror movies, and a German TV programme my mother imported called "X Y Ungeloest", which left nothing to the imagination.  I remember asking my mother many times to translate the things I didn't understand, one of which stands out particularly strongly - "He said the man put the champagne bottle in her bottom and then torched the car with her in it".

I'd seen most horror movies by the time I was 8, including the ones that were banned in the UK (which were a total let-down).  Somehow, The Thing managed to elude me until a was a teenager.  I must have been about 16 when I first saw it, and while I loved the film as a whole, there was one thing that stood out above all:  MacReady.

MacReady is the most ruggedly handsome man I have ever seen in my life (apart from my partner).  He lives on the South Pole in a shack drinking whiskey because he's too cool for the research base.  He flies a helicopter. He fixes the helicopter. He uses a flamethrower. He has ice blue eyes and a rugged beard. His trousers are tight. I love him.

Any boyfriends I had always knew that Kurt came first. This is because Kurt will never let me down.  About two days after I last became single, I dusted off The Thing and curled up on the sofa with Kurt.  And everything in my world was right again.

One of my exes had a real problem with Kurt.  He couldn't appreciate that if we watched The Thing or Escape From New York, he'd get laid. He'd say things like "are you thinking about Kurt?!", and yeah, I was.  Exclusively.

One day I came home to the flat and we'd had his LoveFilm DVDs delivered.  I flicked through them and there was Deathproof - my baby had come around and ordered a Kurt Russell movie I hadn't seen!  Oh Happy Day!

That evening we sat down to watch Deathproof.  My ex seemed very excited, and seemed to be watching me more than he was watching the film.  Deathproof opened with some boring stuff about girls talking and I didn't take any of it in.  Then we get to the bit I have been waiting for, Kurt's first scene.  Kurt is messily eating nachos.  He gets a sexy lapdance.  It transpired he was a crazy serial killer.  I loved him more than ever.

This is probably a good time to describe my ex.  He was a 6ft Croat, blonde, bronzed and very physically fit.  A good four years younger than me, he played water polo for some Dutch team, and played lead guitar in a blues band. He was absolutely gorgeous in that way only painfully stupid, self absorbed people can be.

About two thirds of the way in, when every time Kurt appeared on screen I would squeak, bite my knuckle and point at the telly, my ex jumped up off the sofa and shouted at me.

"What the fuck Charlotte!?  You can't tell me you love this old man?  What about the fucking Nachos?!  He's gross!  Look at ME!"

The penny dropped.  He'd rented Deathproof to put me off Kurt.  How little he knew of my love!  So he's eating nachos messily - babe, I once shit myself at a garage sale. 'Nuff said.  Secondly, I don't want a relationship with Kurt.  We'd never watch a film together, he'd never ask me about my day at work, he'd never cook me a meal.  Maybe he'd arrive at my flat stinking of booze, we'd argue a bit, he'd grab me by the shoulders because I'd pissed him off so much, and then we'd have sex.  Maybe I'd be the only woman on the South Pole and keep him warm at night, while he didn't talk to me about his feelings.  Perhaps he'd save me from angry inmates on Manhattan prison island, bring me back to his hideout and take me roughly from behind like the bitch I am.

And that is why Kurt is here, and he is not.