When Lennon met Harry

It could happen to anyone. But it doesn't. It's always me.

Paris, France

Ah, Paris. The city of lovers.

Or in my case, the city of being left alone with a terribly swollen groin.

In the past 24 hours, since I hobbled off the plane and eased myself into the waiting car, I've endured a relentless stream of jokes, mainly from Louis about going on holiday with Harry and coming back unable to walk properly. Even Harry keeps trying not to laugh.

I wanted to know how the entire band and crew knew that I had destroyed my lady-bits with Glens homemade wax and the answer was soon forthcoming; Apparently Lydia chose to phone ahead to tell them the reason that I would have to skip a couple of shows and, Lydia being Lydia, she didn't spare any details. In fact, I can't prove it, but I would swear she added a few.

So whilst everyone is at the show tonight I'm laid up in bed, wincing every time I have to shift position. I'm just wallowing in feeling sorry for myself when a text comes through from Glen.

It's picture of some roses with some words typed across them;

Sorry I broke your vagina

I'm just about to text him back when my phone begins to ring in my hands.

"Lennon?" Harry begins to speak before I've even said hello.

"Hey-"

"Have you checked twitter? Or any newspapers?" He asks urgently.

"No. Why?"

Harry sighs and I know that there is yet another drama on the horizon. I don't want to hear what it is. I just want to watch Stranger Things, order room service and pretend that everything is ok.

"Just take a look at twitter." Harry says unhappily.

Reluctantly, I put him on loudspeaker and open the app. It takes a couple of tries as I get so many notifs from people asking me to ask Harry to follow them that my phone keeps crashing. Eventually it opens and I look up what's trending.

I cringe.

#HarrysPA is at the top.

For one teeny second I try and fool myself that it's nothing to do with me, but a click on it reveals the worst image I've ever seen in my life.

It's obviously taken from a distance and it's zoomed in to the patio we were sitting on. In the horrible, horrible picture, which is burned into my retinas forever, I'm sat looking very chunky in my bikini with my face twisted into a hideous Kim Kardashian crying face. My legs are wide open and Harry is holding an ice pack to my groin, although from the grainy picture you can barely see what it is he's holding.

"So." Harry exhales. "Someone was watching us, from a boat I'd guess. Well, I wouldn't guess, because unless they can walk on water it would have to have been a boat..."

I'm barely listening. I'm just staring in horror at the picture and the horrible comments beneath.

"Please say something Lennon." Harry says desperately.

"How... How did they know where we were?" I choke finally.

"I don't know. Lydia is absolutely furious... Someone must have told them we were there."