This is the first part of a non traditional non fan fiction story about a rock star, a nervous breakdown and a mad stalker. Cake is required in the reading of this book. No famous people were hurt in the writing of this book.
(note from the author - this book is about a fictional person who is coincidentally called Ricky Wilson, and not the actual real life person called Ricky Wilson who I'm assuming could sue me over what I'm about to put him through - thank you)
Chapter 1
'It was a complete and utter accident...do you really think that two well-balanced, educated, non-madwomen would find themselves locked in a rockstars bedroom at three in the morning without a reasonable excuse?...honestly...it was a complete accident...Officer'.
There is a simple explanation, but we'd need to go right back to the beginning of the total disaster for you to really understand it. Basically I woke up one morning and went completely and utterly mad. Not your normal run-of-the mill madness, but an incredibly severe case of bonkerism that had never been seen before. It began normally with a dream, perfectly innocent, me standing in an inflatable pool full of water, while Ricky Wilson from The Voice threw paint-filled sponges at me until I named at least 6 of the Kaiser chiefs songs...I didn't know any, so the sponges kept being thrown, he seemed a very angry person. I continued to not know any of their songs for two whole weeks until I decided to google them...that'll teach him I thought, yes at this point I was blaming him...completely bonkers right...it's not as if it could get worse is it...no for that I needed help.
Thinking you are completely normal while everyone else is acting strangely is a symptom of madness...one that I totally ignored...rational thought disappeared...although I'm not quite sure I had any to begin with. It was suggested by the women in my craft group that I search out pictures of Ricky Wilson to break the dream, try and find one of him throwing something they said...I am now blaming them...notice this is starting to become a pattern. So I googled, I facebooked, and finally I discovered Instagram...hit the jackpot there...pages of photos, result. Three days later, after intensive searching...yes spending hours trawling through photos of celebs is in my brain considered research...I realised there were no photos of him throwing things, so the ladies in my craft group started sending me photos as well...they may be slightly unhinged.
As this didn't seem to be helping matters I began reading the comments below the photos, some of these women were just plain deluded. I will admit I may have been hit by the batty stick at that point, but these women really thought sending obscene messages was the way to go...AS I SAID...DELUDED...so I began following them. Okay...back-up, I know where your minds going with this...I followed them on Instagram and Twitter, NOT in person...cos that would just be weird...obviously. These women appeared to have lives, families, husbands, children, yet their pages were full of photos of Ricky Wilson...wow I thought...maybe they've been having the dream too...eeeek.
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( Note from the writer - I shall provide illustrations...but I am aware that, for some reason, Ricky Wilson strongly resembles Bluto from Popeye...this is purely to distance the Ricky in this story from the real life Ricky...honest...its on purpose...I really can draw)
