There She Goes [UNEDITED]

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Song by: The La's

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Sunday 10th September, 1989, 9:51pm
Limelight Club,
Shaftsbury Ave.,
London
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Jamie was having a lot of fun. It was the birthday party of Deadline, and to be honest, it was surreal seeing so many people dressed as his character. the one he had thought up, well, him and Alan at least. People danced to the band. Cud, they were called, and they weren't bad. Deadline had done an article on them, so now the two were linked, and, as Jamie could clearly see, the guests were really enjoying the music. He could see Kirsty approaching through the crowd, leather jacket, shorts, ripped top, sunglasses. Her hair was bleach blonde, cropped short. She was a dead ringer for Tank Girl. Behind Kirsty, Jamie sported a different girl. This one was certainly not dressed as Tank Girl. She was wearing a pair of long, baggy jeans, rolled up at the ends with massive tears in the knees, held up by a thick brown belt. Tucked into this was a large Love & Rockets t-shirt, and over the top was a large tweed blazer. She also had bleach blonde hair, but shoulder length and messy, with the roots showing through up to an inch. Jamie felt like he'd seen her before, but he'd met lots of people, so he couldn't be sure. Kirsty dragged the girl behind her, bounding up to Jamie with a full smile stretching across her face.

"Hey, Jamie, this is (y/n), she wanted to meet you."

(Y/n) pulled an awkward smile and gave a small salute in acknowledgement.

"So, want a signature then?" Jamie bantered. Of course it had been a joke, but he had actually had people asking for signatures. He thought that was a bit mad too.

"Not really, just wondered what you looked like," she replied, sounding very laid back.

"She's awful smart for a 17 year old," Kirsty butted in, grabbing (y/n) round the shoulders for a tight side hug, which she was actively resisting to no avail. "Practically a baby aren't you?"

Jamie was surprised about her age, at first glance she had seemed older.

"Well, I'm going for a smoke, nice meeting you Jamie," (y/n) announced, pushing away from Kirsty and heading toward the back door. Jamie was about to say goodbye, but he realised soon the music made it too hard to hear without yelling. As Jamie watched her step outside, Alan came up, introducing Jamie to some friends of his. He didn't see her after that.

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Thursday 2nd February, 1995, 5:34am
Gatwick Airport,
Longford,
London
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(y/n) p.o.v

Sometimes I was really glad of my fame. Now was an example of this, not having to wait in the airport. Gazza and Chris Morrison, Blur's manager, had everything pre-organised, so our only job was to show up. There was a bunch of roadies carrying equipment about, and of course, two to look after us all. The two in question were Vince, a lovable stoner who was always willing to turn a blind eye to the stupid stuff we decided to do, and Ivan, basically Blur's mother, who tried to stop them from a lot to be honest, but it didn't matter because they never listened. The roadies had two jobs, emptying us of drugs and keeping us all together. So far, we had lost Graham.

Graham Coxon was an interesting chap, I had to say. Quieter than all his bandmates and very insecure, there was a somewhat charming allure about him. Him and Damon fitted together quite nicely. To most people Damon was somewhat hard to handle, and Graham toned it down a bit. I sat next to him in the airport for a while, and we got on quite well, then he had got up to go the toilet, and didn't return.

Ivan was panicking, and Graham had been gone for about half an hour. It wasn't long till our flight left and from experience, Graham might be gone for hours, at least that what Dave said when I asked him. There was roadies looking about anywhere they could think. Eventually they roped us in too. I pulled the hood up on my parka so no one could see my face, incase I was recognised. The main issue was getting through the crowd. Most rooms were chock-a-block with people, who didn't quite appreciate having someone push past them to get through. I couldn't see him, so I went toward a woman in uniform who looked like she had some kind of control.

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