So, I have never, contrary to popular opinion, actually got a restraining order from anyone. This is because usually I am a ‘good’ stalker, y’know, keep it on the downlown, quietly quietly catchy monkey, rifle through bins, stare at them when they’re asleep, sure, but make sure the object of your affections is fully drugged beforehand and won’t wake up. Just sayin’.
Anyway, recently I appear to have let things slip, so here is a tale for all you would be superfan stalkers out there with a moral at the end of it.
I happen to be a bit friendly with one of Mansun. He’s a bit of a dude, we hang out occasionally, get drunk, that sort of thing. One particularly drunken evening, after talking about how great 1996 was (my favourite topic don’tchaknow), we came up with a genius idea. We would get Mansun back together. Can you IMAGINE IT? It would be fucking AMAZING! As more alcohol was drunk, the idea got gooder and gooder (that is a word) until we were practically exploding with joy. There was one problem though. One of the key members had gone AWOL and we had no idea where he was. No problem, said I. I am an expert when it comes private detection of the slightly stalky variety – I’ll solve the the problem and (X-Factor voice) GET MANSUN BACK TOGETHER!
So I set to it and used all the high tech tools I had at my finger tips. Myspace. Facebook. Twitter. Hell I even went for Friendster. No fucking joy. Shiiiiiit. I couldn’t fail in this mission but even asking my brother (who is a copper) to search the national register proved un-fruitful (“Fuck off Allie, I’ll lose my job you dick”. Selfish. Don’t talk to him anymore).
I went back to MyMateFromMansun and told him the bad news. Not happy kids, he was NOT happy. Apparently the rest of them were well up for it. I was destroying dreams. I felt like Louis Walsh. That is a blathering, slightly rapey, idiot. I gave up. I had failed. Meh.
However friends, that is not where the story ends. A couple of weeks later I was out with MyMateFromMansun, softly crying into my pint with shame, when we hit the motherload. Turns out MissingMansun had been spotted. He was working in a well known civil-service-role-that-involves-going-round-peoples-houses-when-you-are-called-on-a-special-number. One of MyMateFromMansuns friends had been part of an incident which required the service of such an individual, called the special number and who the fuck turns up on his doorstep – none other than MissingMansun! Amazing. We had an in. Sort of.
Now I happen to know a couple of people who work in the same civil-service-role-that-involves-going-round-peoples-houses-when-you-are-called-on-a-special-number. So I asked them if they knew of MissingMansun. After some highly illegal digging and job risking on their part, I got word via the gift of electronic mail interwebs that yes, they had found him and knew where he was based. This was BRILLIANT. I immediately called MyMateFromMansun. He was well chuffed and suggested that we all go down to his base and wait for him to finish. Then we could ‘get’ him. Now, I’m not keen on being accused of public diorder and kidnapping, so I suggested that maybe we take a different tack and I try and contact him via email. I could get his email address easy off my civil-service-role-that-involves-going-round-peoples-houses-when-you-are-called-on-a-special-number friend. She might get sacked, but fuck it, it’s worth it to here Being A Girl Live again ain’t it??
So a couple of days later, I got the address. This is when things started to go ‘a bit wrong’. First off I used my work email. FAIL. I sent a perfectly nice email explaining that I was friends with MyMateFromMansun and he would LOVE to get the band back together for a gig rah rah rah, love you, love you, byeeee and all that. Nothing. So I sent another one saying pretty much the same thing but a bit more pleading and ‘Dear Jim, please can you fix it for me…”. Nothing. Until one Monday I logged on to what can only be described as a preeeeety scary email. Now I like to add screengrabs to these blogs but I can’t because I deleted all the evidence I was THAT scared.I felt like Gary Glitter. It went a little something like this.
To: The Allie Bailey on her work address that she shouldn’t use for such things
I don’t know who you are, or how you got this address but I just want you to know I have no interest in rejoining the band. That was a really bad time for me and I have moved on and have a different life now which I thoroughly enjoy. I never want to see any of them again and do not wish to have contact with you, or them. Please do not contact me again at this address. If you try to contact me I will report this issue to my line manager and I will contact your managers there at (Insert work name here) and report you for harassment.
SO THAT WENT WELL THEN! DELETE! DELETE! DELETE! BURN OFFICE DOWN AND GET RID OF EVIDENCE! Uh-ho. I had to go back to MyMateFromMansun, who, to be honest, had started to cool on the idea anyway. I’ll put it out there, I was a bit scared. Although I did kind of want to reply with ‘Are you sure?’ just for shits and giggles like.
So what have we learnt?
1: Don’t send stalky emails from your work address
2: Don’t send stalky emails from your work address
3: Mansun won’t be getting back together in the near future
4: Don’t send stalky emails from your work address
It’s Ok though, the police haven’t caught up with me yet – next up THE CATCH REUNION! Anyone? No? Oh………