It's all down to the stalker.
Now, having a stalker and all. It's no fun. I can confirm.
One evening of hell doesn't a stalker make, I do appreciate that. And I appreciate that it was much harder for Kevin Bacon when the fabulous Jack MacFarland was stalking him. Although that did seem to turn out quite well.
But my stalker started out as a nice guy. The first time I met him, he was charming, funny and eager to please, if you know what I mean.
Finding him stood on my doorstep on Sunday afternoon was a little odd, but I just thought "aw bless him, he's keen".
He phoned last night just after I got home from work. I didn't answer - I was tired, needed to cook and wasn't in the mood for chit chat. Almost as soon as the phone stopped ringing, it started again. And again after that.
On the fourth ring he left a message.
He told me that he loved me, he missed me and that he wanted me to come meet his parents at the weekend. We could sleep at his brother's house as he and the sister-in-law had heard all about me and were keen to meet me. The message was so long that the messagerie cut him off at the end...we're talking a full five minutes of message here.
I turned my phone to silent and walked away from it.
Next time I looked he'd called 11 more times. I checked the number and it wasn't a mobile. I had the bright idea of googling the number to see where it was - I wish I hadn't. The number belonged to the public phone outside my building. He'd been out there all night - it was now nearly ten p.m.
As I was marvelling at this, the intercom phone rang. It could only be him. I ignored it, officially a bit scared now.
A few minutes later he called again.
Then the intercom phone rang again. The scary thing is that, in order to get to my building's intercom, you have to be in the building - i.e. the person has already got past the code-protected front door. How had he done that?
I heard my neighbours turn off their tv, walk about and then my front door rang. I presumed it was the neighbour, coming to ask me to please answer the door bell when it rings. I flung the door open expecting to see my friendly neighbour. It wasn't the man next door.
It was him. The stalker.
How had he got through the second bit of security in the building? He'd got past the coded front door and then past the internal door that is locked with a key.
I mumbled something about leaving me alone, stopping ringing, and fucking off and slammed the door. I didn't want a crazy man pushing past me into the house.
I watched through the spyhole in the door as he waited a couple of minutes and then left.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang. I picked it up and said "leave me the fuck alone. Stop ringing, stop waiting outside my house".
"Put the phone down," he said. "I don't want to talk to you, I want to leave a message".
I hung up.
He left me a message. I still have it.
He says that only me and God have the right to judge his 'inexcusable' behaviour this evening. That he still wants to hear my lovely British accent again and he hopes that I will still come with him to see his family. That he misses me and that he is sorry, but that he only wants to talk to me.
Again the message is so long that the voicemail cuts it off at the end.
I presume he'll call tonight. I'm calmer and less scared. I'll deal with it and put an end to it. Either that, or I'll call the police.
It's ridiculous and madness at the same time.
I don't really understand it.
As my LPF said "you're fat, old and English - why would someone want to stalk you?"....