WWVWD?

... allegedly.

I seem to have stumbled somebody with even fewer boundaries than me...Yes,
the mother of five is back!

Not content with phoning me for counselling about the love of her life who
then turned out not to be and then dumped her... not content with turning up
at the British Library just before I was about to go to Tuscany and weeping
in the piazza (bet Virginia never had that problem, although Vita
Sackville-West was a bit of a lunatic), not content with calling two nights
ago to see whether I might want to go to dinner to discuss her failed
relationship just a little bit more in depth, she texts me, today, to say
that she 'happens' to be in London this weekend and she can't remember
whether I said I was busy but if I'm not maybe I have a spare half an hour
to meet for coffee (she has a new au pair, apparently, which allows her to
rampage around South East England chasing ladies)...

I text back, kindly but firmly, saying that I am very busy and important and
must spend tomorrow doing top secret things with a small fiery Sicilian who
would never forgive me if I wasn't there, and the next day have lunch with
sensible friends and then (slyly, because I just can't resist it, and I am a
proud woman whose pride was dented on that Saturday multi-media
text-messaging morning a few weeks ago) I have a date, in the evening with a
hot hot super-sexy glamour model (oh alright then, with the
slightly-lacking-in-humour-queer-theorist, but hey, artistic licence).

I go to my hot yoga class (yes I know I was supposed to be on a date with
the sexy Israeli, but that has been postponed, more of which, later, it's
ok, no panic). I come out to find not one missed call, not two, not three,
but seven. Plus another text. She is deeply jealous of the date. She wishes
it was her. She thinks she has fallen in love with me. She made a terrible
mistake.

So it appears I have a stalker. My first lesbian stalker. Not a nice normal
Sharon Stone Basic Instinct-esque everyday sort of fanciable kind of
stalker. Not a trophy stalker. Christ, I even have low self-esteem about my
own stalker. I have hit the depths.

I toy with the idea of texting back, saying, 'well, it's all down to luck,
and to timing'. I toy with the idea of saying, 'ah, you didn't really mean
to send that to me, did you?'

I decide that would be cruel. No-one likes to be reminded of their mistakes,
do they?

I am going to bed with Jackie Collins and a ready-mixed gin and tonic. With
ice and lemon.

lots of love,

HRH The Queen of Badness.

Sleep well cherubs. Can't wait to see you all tomorrow.

xx