Stalking a vampire

Recently I read a book of lesbian short stories, several of which were written by Mancunians. Among the writers was a lady called Rosemary, aka Rosie Lugosi the Vampire Queen, a performance poet, and described in the book as "the organisatrix (?) of fetish parties at the infamous Club Lash". No, I'm not making this up ... Well, her provocative picture was in the Metro News today; she had been stalked by another lesbian whom she "met at literary gatherings" and who, at poetry meetings, "sat staring at her" and "tried to become her backstage dresser at a pantomime". The poor stalker had to pay £75 costs and was banned from going to the Vampire Queen's shows for a year.

Now why did I ever think that the literary life was dull and boring?