Last week, at a hacks' drink-up in an Italian restaurant, a well-connected and married political editor went all dewy-eyed the minute Alastair Campbell's name was mentioned. His bigness, his brute strength, the "twinkle in his eye" made her giggle and blush.

We all shook our heads in wonder, until the male editor sitting next to her admitted: "I know what you mean; you should see him in his running shorts." Jaws dropped and Paul Routledge, sitting beside me, grunted in disgust.

I've known about the Alastair-Campbell-is-a-sex-god syndrome for several years. But until this week, I had no idea that it had become an epidemic. In fact, to use the favourite phrase of the moment, "it's got completely out of control".

I was first introduced to the Downing Street bruiser's high-flying fan base at the BBC Breakfast News Christmas party in 1998. A stunningly attractive Asian producer sat opposite me during the formal, black-tie dinner. She had been in the Balkans and Rwanda for most of the previous year, making incredibly worthy documentaries.

When the conversation inevitably turned to politics, her self-assured, glittering demeanour shattered as she squeaked: "Oh my god, I wish Alastair Campbell were here." The more wine she drank, the more she mooned over the night they had danced together. Nothing had happened, she emphasised, but for her, being held in his "shovel-like hands" and seeing the "sweat on his top lip" amounted to the most erotic encounter she had ever had.

The PM's press secretary has the "bit of rough" thing in spades. Wealthy women who would otherwise fancy the plumber and lust after men in overalls go for him in a big way. With all his power, status and sex appeal, I was convinced that Ali C must have at least one website dedicated to him. You know the sort of thing - a fan page filled with pictures of the "superstar" and a bit of lurid gossip, too. Surprisingly, there was not a single one.

So, in response to public demand, I am proud to announce the first ever "Alastair Campbell Adoration Website" open for business. Setting it up took me three nights of tireless research, followed by six hours swearing at a screen.

The trouble was that our Alastair turned out to be very difficult research material. When I ran an internet search on his name, all that came up was a history of the Campbell clan - oh, and a plethora of Guardian articles that, with no irony whatsoever, begged to know whether we show too much interest in Campbell. According to a Channel 4 survey last year, Ali C is the fifth most powerful man in the UK; but the entire World Wide Web knows very little about him. Here's all I could find out: he supports Burnley FC (duh), he has a short temper, in his youth he was a "gigolo" who wrote steamy articles for Forum magazine, and now he works for the PM. Not very fulfilling fare for his female fans, is it?

Out of curiosity, I typed my own name into a search engine late one night. I found one website that specialises in providing weirdos with pictures of "celebrities" smoking. Then I stumbled across the "Booth Family Genealogy Forum", where another Lauren Booth was desperate to know: a) about her relatives in Ireland and b) whether or not she is related to John Wilkes Booth.

We . . . er, she is still waiting to find out.

Meanwhile, in typical new Labour style, the success of my Alastair project will depend entirely on good publicity and, more importantly, on whether or not a wealthy donor offers to sponsor the site.

If you need a reminder of why women swoon over the Big Yin of SW1, then visit sexyalastair.co.uk. By this time next week, I'll know just how many successful, frustrated women, from Canary Wharf to the BBC, have a crush on the Crusher.

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