It'd be nice if it became a massive hit or something, but it won't.
I promise to be good at blogging often in the future, mum.
Sunday, 3 March 2013
I've heard a very nice song made in space.
Not really an update, just saying that my simple mind has been BLOWN by the fact that the Barenaked Ladies have recorded a song with the Captain of the International Space Station and they performed it together with him in space.
It'd be nice if it became a massive hit or something, but it won't.
I promise to be good at blogging often in the future, mum.
It'd be nice if it became a massive hit or something, but it won't.
I promise to be good at blogging often in the future, mum.
Tuesday, 6 November 2012
ELECTION FEVER
Do you care? Should you care? Are you a bit of a git for caring?
Well, the people of the United States of America are currently using those weird machines they use instead of just using a pen like everyone else does in order to elect their leader for the next 4 years.
Who do we want to win? Barack Obama? Mitt Romney? Ron Paul? Roseanne Barr? And more importantly, how bothered are you? I've always found the fact that so many British people to be far more into US politics than UK politics to be an interesting phenomenon. How many people can't name their own MP for instance? (Susan Elan-Jones MP, Clywd South. You won't catch me out folks). Maybe it's becase US politics is more exciting than the UK? They had Hollywood Reagan and Bill Clinton playing saxophone, and we had Rhodes Boyson's sideburns and Douglas Hurd. Even though, Barack Obama being all pally with Springsteen and calling Kanye a jackass after he let Taylor Swift finish is infinitely cooler than Call Me Dave Cameron doing whatever he does. Listening to Adele probably. Actually, probably the bloody Lightening Seeds.
I've been reading today a lot about British snobbery. And it's definitely in the air. Not snobbery to the extent where we're sinking cup of tea after cup of tea tea and having piles of crumpets and talking like Sir John Giulgud, but in a very patronising "we know best" manner as regards the US election. I've been doing it myself, moaning incessantly about Mitt Ronmey and championing the cause of Barack Obama. But why? I don't get a vote. And anyway, the country I live in has Cameron and Clegg in charge. Who are we to tell anyone how to vote? If during the next General Election a load of Americans tell me who to vote for over Social Media, I'd see my arse. "It's nothing to do with them... What do they know..." and so on, so forth. I often think we're a bit cruel in the UK when it comes to our generalisations of the populace of the USA. "Rednecks" "All obese" "Retards". It's seemingly an acceptable form of racism at times, like calling me a Sheep Shagger, or an Scotsman a Sweaty. And yet again, today, we're proving that we think we know best.
I just hope no god damned, gun toting, yankee doodle dandy tries telling me who to vote for Police Crime Commissioner.
As a closing note though, the enthusiasm for voting over there is a real joy to behold.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
Lee Ryan's hysterical Twitter meltdown
Like many people in this world, I'm on twitter (The link's up there. Click it. Follow me. You will be disappointed). It's a handy little tool. After all, where else can you read someone bemoaning racism in football and then having the pop at the Polish within 2 minutes, other than any pub in the country?
Apparently TWITTER RUINS LIVES. There's been a fine array of meltdowns on the tweet machine, and my sense of schaudenfraude was super duper happy this morning when I saw one from Lee Ryan of the execrable band Blue. Blue, a band guilty for a terrible Eurovision entry (although it wasn't sub-Humperdink), a song called One Love which I abhorred and one called All Rise, which only succeeded in raising my ire. Then they broke up and they did solo songs. While, and whisper it quietly, I didn't actually mind Simon Webbe's Lay Your Hands as it was perfectly acceptable Radio 2 fodder, but not so for Lee Ryan's Army of Lovers. It is one of the worst songs committed to vinyl, or minidisc, or digital things put on a hard drive.
Apparently TWITTER RUINS LIVES. There's been a fine array of meltdowns on the tweet machine, and my sense of schaudenfraude was super duper happy this morning when I saw one from Lee Ryan of the execrable band Blue. Blue, a band guilty for a terrible Eurovision entry (although it wasn't sub-Humperdink), a song called One Love which I abhorred and one called All Rise, which only succeeded in raising my ire. Then they broke up and they did solo songs. While, and whisper it quietly, I didn't actually mind Simon Webbe's Lay Your Hands as it was perfectly acceptable Radio 2 fodder, but not so for Lee Ryan's Army of Lovers. It is one of the worst songs committed to vinyl, or minidisc, or digital things put on a hard drive.
There's an Army of Lovers dying to meet you,
Dying to make your acquaintance.
Top lyrics there. Apparently a militia of passionate types are hoping to meet some girl, possibly to get off with her, BUT NO! Only Lee Ryan's for her. Lee Ryan and his weird face and flat voice he showed off at Eurovision the other year. There's other lyrics too:-
Accidents happen, strangest of places
How come they happen at all
How come they happen at all
Look for the turning for something or nothing
Yes, Lee. Accidents do happen. You singing is the biggest one of all. Still, lyrics like "How come they happen at all?" show Ryan to be a philosopher. A songsmith. Voice of a generation. Indeed, why do accidents happen? I'd say a lack of planning. Family planning.
"Look for the turning for something or nothing"? If anyone can actually get any sense out of that I'll give them a prize up to the value of a £3 Amazon voucher. He's basically just saying words and cliches and putting kind of a tune to them while sounding like a colostomy bag warbling over it. Anyone can write a song like that, and probably sing it better too. See:-
There's a Militia of Passion outside your garden,
Self polluting in the bushes.
Getting stung by some Nettles.
Dogs eat Cesar, remotes work for tellies,
Why does this happen at all?
Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.
If you haven't heard it before, and really really need to, here's the super pop opus in full.
It sounds like an Eagles song at the start, doesn't it? Then gets far worse. And The Eagles aren't great themselves.
Anyway, Lee Ryan was in love with a girl called Samantha who put revealing pictures on his MySpace (good start), and apparently he assaulted her at some juncture. Charges were dropped. They split up after such charming events as the time that:
"The pair reunited, but then suffered a tumultuous engagement punctuated by public arguments - one of which saw Lee throwing money at Samantha outside a Mayfair hotel."
Lee Ryan, everybody! He also compared 9/11 to the plight of Whales, and he also told the lady in question at one juncture that she could "Fucking starve". But anyway, this walking advert for the pro-choice movement had something to say on his twitter today!
No, it's not that. Although that was the tweet before his hysterical breakdown, and shows his... well... I dunno I just thought it'd be funny. Is it that he can't spell and that he thinks Charlie Chaplin died as a big chair or toilet? Or that he died when he was thrown at something. Perhaps thrown into a relationship with Lee Ryan where Lee Ryan definitely didn't assault him? Lee Ryan - Renaissance Man.
Anyway, onto the superduper breakdown!
What are your favourite bit? Mine is...
"Stop using who I am." - What's that? A stupidly untalented arsehole with a face like a shrew who makes shite rambling songs about Charlie Chaplin which claims he died as a bit of regal furniture or someone who was projected into not breathing anymore? You're Lee Ryan. No-one cares who you are. You're not a star or anything these days, you should probably be thankful that your definitely not a woman beater arse is getting the oxygen of publicity for more than 30 seconds more than 7 years after the last time anyone gave a shite about you. You should be in fucking boyband hell with 911, A1 and 5ive wanking for a chance at getting on Channel Five's "2003 was shit" narrated by Robert Webb.
"I honestly couldn't care less" - So I'll tweet about another 1971297 times about it, BECAUSE I DON'T CARE. I'M LEE "NO CARE" RYAN. I'M LIKE CHAPLIN, I'LL DIE A THROWN. He doesn't care so much, he gives out the mobile number of the journo! That's how much Lee Not a Woman Beater Ryan cares.
"Some people have killed themselves over twitter" - Some people have killed themselves over football results. I'm not advocating banning football, nor twitter. Only banning you.
"I think this sight is actually wrong" - How apt, being next to a picture of your half hatched bird face.
So, anyway. I'm really looking forward to this story coming out. And also this is why I love twitter so much. The place where jumped up irrelevant little shits like Lee Ryan get to implode for all our entertainment And frankly, after listening to his pop career, he finally owes us some entertainment.
Monday, 22 October 2012
Why we are who we are. Life and how we live it.
Look at them. Just look at them. Walking around like ducks with nowhere to go. They're ignorant, they're inconsiderate, they lie, they cheat, they steal. They're people.
Now, I'm not saying I'm better than anyone else. In fact, I'm one of the worst examples of people. I'm abrasive, I swear and smoke too much, I don't like people who act like me because I'm a massive hypocrite, I sometimes dodge buying back rounds. So, the question is, why are we all such a shower of bastards?
BIRTH
The very nature of childbirth is one of hostility. Your mother will scream, shit and piss her way to firing you out of her yoghurt pocket in extreme pain. You were probably a mistake, anyway. My mother's still not forgiven me for weighing 10lbs and taking 18 hours. That was 27 years ago and she's still not got over it. I don't blame her. My first act as a person on this world is to cause her harm and rip her up, and then a doctor smacks my arse and cuts some bloody cord off me. I'm not happy either. So already, we've realised that life's shite. It's started shite, but it's all up from here isn't it?
YOUNG CHILDHOOD
No. Show me two children that actually like each other. All children are cretinous backstabbers who play with dog eggs and have running noses. Look at our childhoods, everyone around in them is now a paedophile as I alluded to in my last entry. Although when we were younger apparently being a paedophile wasn't a bad thing, so you had men like Clive Beast who lived by me for years. It's also at this young age that we learn that we're shit at everything. Start playing football and you reckon you're ok, until older boys come and beat the shit out of you, win 10-0, nick your ball and make you cry. And there's bullies. There's the maniac (Ian Collyer) up the road who smashes squirrels by their tails into walls for fun. He masturbates in front of everyone on the park despite being far older. Luckily he's probably dead by now.
And then there's schooling. If you are thick, then you are the weak. If you are intelligent, then you are the weak. And every year you learn that what you learned last year was wrong, so unlearn it and learn it again in this new way which is the right way until next year when it's time to forget all about it again in order to learn all about it again. You realise that popularity is correlated to ability at football (not unlike your adult years) and ability at football is also apparently an indicator of how tough you are. You're the new kid in a new school joining people who've been there a while? You may as well not bother. You will be bullied to within an inch of your life.
TEENAGE YEARS
Well, now you've got pubes. Maybe things are looking up? No. You smell, you're clumsy, you've got bad skin, you get involuntary erections on the bus or you start your cycle, you've got an awkward haircut, your voice is weird, you hate everyone and everyone hates you. People we're close to are now going to start to die in earnest, leading to fear of death. This is one of the more exciting parts of our lives. It's also at this juncture we fall in love with idealism. More on that later.
It's that this point we're starting to think of our futures. Whether it be university or work, our future is in our hands. Or not. Instead your future is mapped out. And it's a shit map. The AtoZ City Atlas of Wank. Population: You. Basically your dreams will be crushed day by day until you're a just a massive spotty husk of adolescent whinging. But it's not the major things that are crushing you. It's the seemingly life or death pursuit of the opposite sex. Guess what, they don't like you. Your jokes are shite. And pretending to like terrible music of your period in order to appear somewhat trendy is something you'll only regret in the future. I used to wear a bandana, I know. That's not a real beard you're growing either. However, it's at this age we learn that alcohol is a conduit to social skills. That time drinking 2ltrs of Diamond White in the park is not all in vain. You realise how witty you become, and how much less you care. This is a good thing. And drinking will stand you in fine stead for...
YOUNG ADULTHOOD
You are now an Adult. You can vote, marry, die in pointless and oppressive wars, drive and get into lots of debt. At this point you're really idealistic. You may experiment with drugs, and wonder what all the media fuss is about, as they're not actually all that bad. You may take an interest in politics, you may go to university, you may be told you're not experienced for any jobs, you may still be hated by the opposite sex. At this point you'll be knocked back more than vodka at Barrymore's house and starting to become cynical. Young Adulthood is when we really start to learn what this place is all about. You know Whatever Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger? It doesn't. Instead the pissing all over everything you thought you believed or knew gives birth to a mortal fear of failure in which you'll never attempt to do anything ever again. And to make it worse, the people who were gits are the ones who are super successful. They'll make sure you know this when you bump into them at Superdrug or wherever as you're buying 48 proplus to get through a week of 16 hour shifts in the warehouse to pay off your loans which you've accrued in this exciting stage of your life. However, you find a soulmate and...
REAL ADULTHOOD
...start to slowly hate them as you realise you're stuck with them forever. Perhaps you've got children at this point who hate you as well. You no longer care about anything at this point, other than paying off the mountain of debt which is somehow multiplying. At this point, you're hoping that you've somehow picked up AIDS as an early release so you don't have to talk to anyone or go anywhere anymore. But you haven't got AIDS. And you're scared to go to South Africa and drink some AIDS blood in case you get shot there, even though that'd kill you anyway. But what if you don't die if you get shot? You've got South African medical bills to pay, and it wasn't cheap getting out there, so you're in even more debt. You're looking forward to retirement perhaps, when you would have half paid off your mortgage and can wile away the days sipping lemon tea and watching The Alan Titchmarsh show? Well tough. Retirement age is now 80.
Mind you though, the kids are going away now to University or work, and they're out of the way. Oh wait. No they aren't. They've got kids now. And they want money off you or babysitting as these grandchildren break the 2021 Bolton & District 5th Place Cluedo Championships trophy you've won. The only tme you've nearly won anything, and it's destroyed forever. But at least you've got your health!
OLD AGE
Wait, no you haven't. Oh well, why not take up your time writing racist letters to middle market tabloids in order to give yourself something to do. That woman across the road? Obviously a drug dealer. And she's stepping out with a darkie! Oh, wait. I've just soiled myself. Still, at least now you can push into queues in shops while complaining about the service as earlier age groups keep tight lipped not wanting to say anything in case they look a bit wrong. There are bonuses though. Walk in baths, Stannah Stairlifts, and delicious Wiltshire Farm Foods ready meals brought directly to your door! Then there's...
DEATH
Dignified and blessed relief, as you die choking on a small bone in a piece of haddock at the £3.50 OAP Fish, Chips and Pot of Tea special at Harry Ramsden's held on a Tuesday between 3-3:15. And you've soiled yourself. Again. Can't even die without failing again somehow, and you're forever known as the person who shat themselves when they died in the chippy.
So yeah, that's life and how we live it, and why we're all such utter bastards. But there are positives. There's American dramas, Schaudenfraude and that one occasion when all your jokes fired off perfectly and you were carried from the party on everyone's shoulders as the opposite sex cooed and your same sex shook your hand. And moments like that probably make it all worth it.
If only there were more of them eh?
Now, I'm not saying I'm better than anyone else. In fact, I'm one of the worst examples of people. I'm abrasive, I swear and smoke too much, I don't like people who act like me because I'm a massive hypocrite, I sometimes dodge buying back rounds. So, the question is, why are we all such a shower of bastards?
BIRTH
The very nature of childbirth is one of hostility. Your mother will scream, shit and piss her way to firing you out of her yoghurt pocket in extreme pain. You were probably a mistake, anyway. My mother's still not forgiven me for weighing 10lbs and taking 18 hours. That was 27 years ago and she's still not got over it. I don't blame her. My first act as a person on this world is to cause her harm and rip her up, and then a doctor smacks my arse and cuts some bloody cord off me. I'm not happy either. So already, we've realised that life's shite. It's started shite, but it's all up from here isn't it?
YOUNG CHILDHOOD
No. Show me two children that actually like each other. All children are cretinous backstabbers who play with dog eggs and have running noses. Look at our childhoods, everyone around in them is now a paedophile as I alluded to in my last entry. Although when we were younger apparently being a paedophile wasn't a bad thing, so you had men like Clive Beast who lived by me for years. It's also at this young age that we learn that we're shit at everything. Start playing football and you reckon you're ok, until older boys come and beat the shit out of you, win 10-0, nick your ball and make you cry. And there's bullies. There's the maniac (Ian Collyer) up the road who smashes squirrels by their tails into walls for fun. He masturbates in front of everyone on the park despite being far older. Luckily he's probably dead by now.
And then there's schooling. If you are thick, then you are the weak. If you are intelligent, then you are the weak. And every year you learn that what you learned last year was wrong, so unlearn it and learn it again in this new way which is the right way until next year when it's time to forget all about it again in order to learn all about it again. You realise that popularity is correlated to ability at football (not unlike your adult years) and ability at football is also apparently an indicator of how tough you are. You're the new kid in a new school joining people who've been there a while? You may as well not bother. You will be bullied to within an inch of your life.
TEENAGE YEARS
Well, now you've got pubes. Maybe things are looking up? No. You smell, you're clumsy, you've got bad skin, you get involuntary erections on the bus or you start your cycle, you've got an awkward haircut, your voice is weird, you hate everyone and everyone hates you. People we're close to are now going to start to die in earnest, leading to fear of death. This is one of the more exciting parts of our lives. It's also at this juncture we fall in love with idealism. More on that later.
It's that this point we're starting to think of our futures. Whether it be university or work, our future is in our hands. Or not. Instead your future is mapped out. And it's a shit map. The AtoZ City Atlas of Wank. Population: You. Basically your dreams will be crushed day by day until you're a just a massive spotty husk of adolescent whinging. But it's not the major things that are crushing you. It's the seemingly life or death pursuit of the opposite sex. Guess what, they don't like you. Your jokes are shite. And pretending to like terrible music of your period in order to appear somewhat trendy is something you'll only regret in the future. I used to wear a bandana, I know. That's not a real beard you're growing either. However, it's at this age we learn that alcohol is a conduit to social skills. That time drinking 2ltrs of Diamond White in the park is not all in vain. You realise how witty you become, and how much less you care. This is a good thing. And drinking will stand you in fine stead for...
YOUNG ADULTHOOD
You are now an Adult. You can vote, marry, die in pointless and oppressive wars, drive and get into lots of debt. At this point you're really idealistic. You may experiment with drugs, and wonder what all the media fuss is about, as they're not actually all that bad. You may take an interest in politics, you may go to university, you may be told you're not experienced for any jobs, you may still be hated by the opposite sex. At this point you'll be knocked back more than vodka at Barrymore's house and starting to become cynical. Young Adulthood is when we really start to learn what this place is all about. You know Whatever Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger? It doesn't. Instead the pissing all over everything you thought you believed or knew gives birth to a mortal fear of failure in which you'll never attempt to do anything ever again. And to make it worse, the people who were gits are the ones who are super successful. They'll make sure you know this when you bump into them at Superdrug or wherever as you're buying 48 proplus to get through a week of 16 hour shifts in the warehouse to pay off your loans which you've accrued in this exciting stage of your life. However, you find a soulmate and...
REAL ADULTHOOD
...start to slowly hate them as you realise you're stuck with them forever. Perhaps you've got children at this point who hate you as well. You no longer care about anything at this point, other than paying off the mountain of debt which is somehow multiplying. At this point, you're hoping that you've somehow picked up AIDS as an early release so you don't have to talk to anyone or go anywhere anymore. But you haven't got AIDS. And you're scared to go to South Africa and drink some AIDS blood in case you get shot there, even though that'd kill you anyway. But what if you don't die if you get shot? You've got South African medical bills to pay, and it wasn't cheap getting out there, so you're in even more debt. You're looking forward to retirement perhaps, when you would have half paid off your mortgage and can wile away the days sipping lemon tea and watching The Alan Titchmarsh show? Well tough. Retirement age is now 80.
Mind you though, the kids are going away now to University or work, and they're out of the way. Oh wait. No they aren't. They've got kids now. And they want money off you or babysitting as these grandchildren break the 2021 Bolton & District 5th Place Cluedo Championships trophy you've won. The only tme you've nearly won anything, and it's destroyed forever. But at least you've got your health!
OLD AGE
Wait, no you haven't. Oh well, why not take up your time writing racist letters to middle market tabloids in order to give yourself something to do. That woman across the road? Obviously a drug dealer. And she's stepping out with a darkie! Oh, wait. I've just soiled myself. Still, at least now you can push into queues in shops while complaining about the service as earlier age groups keep tight lipped not wanting to say anything in case they look a bit wrong. There are bonuses though. Walk in baths, Stannah Stairlifts, and delicious Wiltshire Farm Foods ready meals brought directly to your door! Then there's...
DEATH
Dignified and blessed relief, as you die choking on a small bone in a piece of haddock at the £3.50 OAP Fish, Chips and Pot of Tea special at Harry Ramsden's held on a Tuesday between 3-3:15. And you've soiled yourself. Again. Can't even die without failing again somehow, and you're forever known as the person who shat themselves when they died in the chippy.
So yeah, that's life and how we live it, and why we're all such utter bastards. But there are positives. There's American dramas, Schaudenfraude and that one occasion when all your jokes fired off perfectly and you were carried from the party on everyone's shoulders as the opposite sex cooed and your same sex shook your hand. And moments like that probably make it all worth it.
If only there were more of them eh?
Wednesday, 17 October 2012
EVERYONE'S A PAEDOPHILE IF THEY WERE FAMOUS 25 YEARS AGO
So, we've all read the jokes, all heard the names (some confirmed, and some just conjecture), and all got our opinions on it...
So, only a few years after the shocking and sickening news that the Krankies were swingers and Barry Chuckle was twatted in a layby for playing away, there's more aged light-entertainment sex madness for us to deal with. This one's far more sinister though. The face of charities, fun runs, and going "Nururururgh" in this country had apparently been exposed. There always seemed something quite off about Sir Jimmy. After watching the Louis Theroux documentary I thought it was something Oedipal, the whole "The Duchess" thing had shades of Norman Bates combined with Mike Ranger in 1970's pornographic film Taboo (for the record I actually still have my suspicions on The Duchess thing, but that's neither here nor there), but instead it turns out his sexual deviancy of choice was hebephilia/ehphebophilia which is something far less palatable. And bonking your mum isn't superduper palatable.
So, is it a massive cover up? Was it a shroud of fear stopping people coming forward to say they'd been interfered with? I'd say there's a lot to be said for the second theory. With the blame culture so unfairly associated with victims of rape, would victims of his abuse feel particularly comfortable coming forward to talk against a 'national institution'? Was there massive underage sex orgies with Jimmy Savile and Gary Glitter in dressing rooms in Shepherds Bush? I'm probably a bit doubtful of that. I don't think there was some massive paedophile ring of celebrities passing around children like currency like the Free Robert Green types would have you believe. (However, WHERE'S THE BOOK PETE?).
But apparently, there could other names involved. Personally I'd not be surprised, actually more hopeful than anything, if one of them had a beard, DJed, and I'm trying not to say enough about him to get sued by him. Because that's what it all seems to have boiled down to. Crap old light entertainers are all sex freaks. What next, Little and Large go dogging? Russ Abbot in rimming shame? Gyles Brandreth is a fucking massive tosser (Oh, wait!). Where's it all going to end? And is there a bit of a double standard in all of this?
Roman Polanski's career doesn't seem to have suffered to terribly since being charged with rape by use of drugs, perversion, sodomy, lewd and lascivious act upon a child under 14 in 1977. Indeed, he just fled around places that wouldn't extradite him until settling out of court in 1993. He still made films, people still went to watch his films, and not many called him a dirty norris. John Peel dallied with the underage, but because it's John Peel it seemed to fly under people's radar. John Bonham like them young too. Is this because they're seen as visionaries and artists, instead of cringeworthy relics like Glitter and Savile? I've always seen child abuse and rape as child abuse and rape in my eyes, regardless of artistic merit of their work, and all should be castigated.
Maybe if this was attacked at the crux of the problem at the time and not brushed under the carpet, maybe the stigmatising of victims may not be so prevalent and we wouldn't end up where we are now?
And I thoroughly expect to read about the bloke who played Reg Holdsworth cottaging with Paul Nicholas before we know it.
www.twitter.com/GazMaybury
 |
| Pandora's Box |
So, only a few years after the shocking and sickening news that the Krankies were swingers and Barry Chuckle was twatted in a layby for playing away, there's more aged light-entertainment sex madness for us to deal with. This one's far more sinister though. The face of charities, fun runs, and going "Nururururgh" in this country had apparently been exposed. There always seemed something quite off about Sir Jimmy. After watching the Louis Theroux documentary I thought it was something Oedipal, the whole "The Duchess" thing had shades of Norman Bates combined with Mike Ranger in 1970's pornographic film Taboo (for the record I actually still have my suspicions on The Duchess thing, but that's neither here nor there), but instead it turns out his sexual deviancy of choice was hebephilia/ehphebophilia which is something far less palatable. And bonking your mum isn't superduper palatable.
So, is it a massive cover up? Was it a shroud of fear stopping people coming forward to say they'd been interfered with? I'd say there's a lot to be said for the second theory. With the blame culture so unfairly associated with victims of rape, would victims of his abuse feel particularly comfortable coming forward to talk against a 'national institution'? Was there massive underage sex orgies with Jimmy Savile and Gary Glitter in dressing rooms in Shepherds Bush? I'm probably a bit doubtful of that. I don't think there was some massive paedophile ring of celebrities passing around children like currency like the Free Robert Green types would have you believe. (However, WHERE'S THE BOOK PETE?).
But apparently, there could other names involved. Personally I'd not be surprised, actually more hopeful than anything, if one of them had a beard, DJed, and I'm trying not to say enough about him to get sued by him. Because that's what it all seems to have boiled down to. Crap old light entertainers are all sex freaks. What next, Little and Large go dogging? Russ Abbot in rimming shame? Gyles Brandreth is a fucking massive tosser (Oh, wait!). Where's it all going to end? And is there a bit of a double standard in all of this?
Roman Polanski's career doesn't seem to have suffered to terribly since being charged with rape by use of drugs, perversion, sodomy, lewd and lascivious act upon a child under 14 in 1977. Indeed, he just fled around places that wouldn't extradite him until settling out of court in 1993. He still made films, people still went to watch his films, and not many called him a dirty norris. John Peel dallied with the underage, but because it's John Peel it seemed to fly under people's radar. John Bonham like them young too. Is this because they're seen as visionaries and artists, instead of cringeworthy relics like Glitter and Savile? I've always seen child abuse and rape as child abuse and rape in my eyes, regardless of artistic merit of their work, and all should be castigated.
Maybe if this was attacked at the crux of the problem at the time and not brushed under the carpet, maybe the stigmatising of victims may not be so prevalent and we wouldn't end up where we are now?
And I thoroughly expect to read about the bloke who played Reg Holdsworth cottaging with Paul Nicholas before we know it.
www.twitter.com/GazMaybury
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