Time Machine ,  Gentleman Please ! I have met some thick people in my time but no-one compares to Dr Stephen Hawking. We met when we did a product launch together at the Fenn Street branch of WH Smiths - he had some boring DVD out called The Big Bang ( £12.99 wasted !  I assumed it was a Ben Dover job ) , and I was promoting my book of  poetry ” It Wasn’t A Laugh Being Sylvia Plath .” During a quiet moment  we both nipped out for a fag .  Hawking asked me if I fancied making a few quid in a sure-fire earner he had planned.  He told me that he’d invented a machine that could travel through time and he had an idea about how it could make him rich. He had found a copy of the Daily Mirror from 1976 in his rabbit hutch  and had torn out the page containing the racing results. All we had to do was pop up on the day of the actual races and , knowing the winners in advance , clean up at the bookies. ’ Count me in  , ’ I said . Money was a bit tight at that point in my life. No-one gets rich out of poetry , and besides , my divorce from Linda Lusardi hadn’t come cheap.      Anyway , on the day of our trip we stocked the time machine with as much booze as possible and Hawking set the controls for 1976. As we cracked open the first of the brown ale the machine sparked into life and before we knew it we had arrived in the past. I flung open the door and stepped outside. But instead of some slightly grubby high street all we could see was miles and miles of rocky desert. Then some geezer wearing nothing but a loin cloth , and brandishing a club ,  sauntered past . ’ Ere Mate , where’s the nearest Ladbrokes ? ’ I asked .  The bloke looked terrified and pointed at something in the distance with his club…a bloody great Tyrannasaurus Rex !  Hawking was off like a shot .Those motorised wheelchairs can go pretty fast if you have a hungry 500 ton dinosaur chasing you .  Me and Barney bleedin’ Rubble legged it to the nearest boulder. Anyway , I soon realised  Hawking’s mistake. He’d programmed the machine for 1976 BC  instead of  1976 AD. Stupid berk.  ” Don’t worry ,” he said ” I have had another  idea ! ‘’ I shouldn’t have listened but I didn’t have much choice. I was going to have a long wait for a bus. ” We open up the world’s first Wetherspoons and sell our booze to cavemen at inflated prices.Then we go back to the present day and sue Wetherspoons for copyright infringement. Bingo ! We’ll be rolling in it  ! ” Well ,it seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. We found a suitable cave , made a makeshift bar , and tarted the place up a bit with some old wooly mammoth skins . I’m still proud of the fact that we had the cleanest toilets of any pre- historical pub chain. Anyway ,  soon enough the place was full of Cro-Magnon punters enjoying a pint or three. To be honest it wasn’t all a roaring success. Curry Night didn’t really take off. Chickens hadn’t been invented yet and  the Pterodactyl Madras was , frankly , a bit on the chewy side. And the Quiz Night was well attended but they couldn’t even spell their own names  let alone know who won the  Eurovision Song Contest in 1972.* After a week or two the booze ran out and we decided to return to the present day to stock . What we hadn’t expected  was that caveman currency - basically bits of flint with the cavewoman Queen’s head on it -  was  worthless . Unbelievably after all that we were out of bloody pocket. Hawking was still full of bright ideas.  He said ” Renaissance Italy is the place to go. It’s a hotbed of art , ideas and culture. Let’s see if we can take The Grumbleweeds there for a summer season.”    Yeah right Brains ! * The winner of Eurovision in 1972 was Vicky Leandros. Well done to Ugg who got it right before sadly being eaten by a Triceratops on the way home.  
Time Machine ,  Gentleman Please !

I have met some thick people in my time but no-one compares to Dr Stephen Hawking.

We met when we did a product launch together at the Fenn Street branch of WH Smiths - he had some boring DVD out called The Big Bang ( £12.99 wasted !  I assumed it was a Ben Dover job ) , and I was promoting my book of  poetry ” It Wasn’t A Laugh Being Sylvia Plath .”

During a quiet moment  we both nipped out for a fag .  Hawking asked me if I fancied making a few quid in a sure-fire earner he had planned. 


He told me that he’d invented a machine that could travel through time and he had an idea about how it could make him rich. He had found a copy of the Daily Mirror from 1976 in his rabbit hutch  and had torn out the page containing the racing results. All we had to do was pop up on the day of the actual races and , knowing the winners in advance , clean up at the bookies.

’ Count me in  , ’ I said . Money was a bit tight at that point in my life. No-one gets rich out of poetry , and besides , my divorce from Linda Lusardi hadn’t come cheap.
    
Anyway , on the day of our trip we stocked the time machine with as much booze as possible and Hawking set the controls for 1976. As we cracked open the first of the brown ale the machine sparked into life and before we knew it we had arrived in the past.

I flung open the door and stepped outside. But instead of some slightly grubby high street all we could see was miles and miles of rocky desert. Then some geezer wearing nothing but a loin cloth , and brandishing a club ,  sauntered past .

’ Ere Mate , where’s the nearest Ladbrokes ? ’ I asked . 

The bloke looked terrified and pointed at something in the distance with his club…a bloody great Tyrannasaurus Rex !

 Hawking was off like a shot .Those motorised wheelchairs can go pretty fast if you have a hungry 500 ton dinosaur chasing you .  Me and Barney bleedin’ Rubble legged it to the nearest boulder.

Anyway , I soon realised  Hawking’s mistake. He’d programmed the machine for 1976 BC  instead of  1976 AD. Stupid berk. 

” Don’t worry ,” he said ” I have had another  idea ! ‘’

I shouldn’t have listened but I didn’t have much choice. I was going to have a long wait for a bus.

” We open up the world’s first Wetherspoons and sell our booze to cavemen at inflated prices.Then we go back to the present day and sue Wetherspoons for copyright infringement. Bingo ! We’ll be rolling in it  ! ”

Well ,it seemed like a reasonable idea at the time.

We found a suitable cave , made a makeshift bar , and tarted the place up a bit with some old wooly mammoth skins . I’m still proud of the fact that we had the cleanest toilets of any pre- historical pub chain.

Anyway ,  soon enough the place was full of Cro-Magnon punters enjoying a pint or three.

To be honest it wasn’t all a roaring success. Curry Night didn’t really take off. Chickens hadn’t been invented yet and  the Pterodactyl Madras was , frankly , a bit on the chewy side. And the Quiz Night was well attended but they couldn’t even spell their own names  let alone know who won the  Eurovision Song Contest in 1972.*

After a week or two the booze ran out and we decided to return to the present day to stock . What we hadn’t expected  was that caveman currency - basically bits of flint with the cavewoman Queen’s head on it -  was  worthless .

Unbelievably after all that we were out of bloody pocket.

Hawking was still full of bright ideas.  He said ” Renaissance Italy is the place to go. It’s a hotbed of art , ideas and culture. Let’s see if we can take The Grumbleweeds there for a summer season.”   

Yeah right Brains !

* The winner of Eurovision in 1972 was Vicky Leandros. Well done to Ugg who got it right before sadly being eaten by a Triceratops on the way home.



 

Knocking On Evelyn’s Door - when folk turned electric. Folk clubs in the 60’s were pretty dire places. They were full of  wailing ,  bearded soap-dodgers wearing moth -eaten jumpers , smelling of turnips and  pissed-up on mead…and that was just the woman !  It was all hey-nonny-no and songs about chasing fair maidens round the maypole with a crumhorn. God , it was boring . It was time to give the scene a kick up the backside …and I was the man to do it. Soon I was playing gigs alongside such  innovative figures as Glaswegian finger-picker  Bert Flange , singing chiropodist Nasti Bunion and the alcoholic guitar maestro Big Bill Boozy  . The pivotal moment came in 1965 with the release of my album about the joys of lesbianism - ” Blonde on Brunette ” . Tracks such as ” Lady Lay Lady ” and ” Knocking On Evelyn’s Door ” were big hits with audiences everywhere. And , let’s be honest , it’s clear that a certain Mr Zimmerman in the US of A heard them too.  But I wanted to take it even further. One night in the Old Cobblers folk club in Soho I decided to do something completely revolutionary. I threw out my trusty old acoustic guitar and as I went onto the stage I plugged in a brand new electric  Fender Stratocaster. Well ,to say it went down badly would be an understatement. Within the first few bars  I could sense the crowd getting angry and upset at my radical new sound. One man , in particular , started to gesticulate angrily towards the stage. Then I heard him shout that terrible word…. ” Judas . ” It was obvious that I had misjudged the situation and fled the stage in tears. I vowed I would never play a folk gig again. It was only years afterwards that I found out what really happened in the audience that night. Apparently there was a big fat bird at the front by the stage and the people behind her couldn’t see . One of them shouted out ” huge arse ” in order to get her to move. Unfortunately I couldn’t hear properly over the din and misheard it. Still , I had no regrets. Within a couple of years I had invented punk rock after a  racous night in a Wetherspoons in Neasden with Sid Vicious and the Lieutenant Pigeon lads. But that’s another story.

Knocking On Evelyn’s Door - when folk turned electric.

Folk clubs in the 60’s were pretty dire places. They were full of  wailing ,  bearded soap-dodgers wearing moth -eaten jumpers , smelling of turnips and  pissed-up on mead…and that was just the woman !  It was all hey-nonny-no and songs about chasing fair maidens round the maypole with a crumhorn. God , it was boring .

It was time to give the scene a kick up the backside …and I was the man to do it. Soon I was playing gigs alongside such  innovative figures as Glaswegian finger-picker  Bert Flange , singing chiropodist Nasti Bunion and the alcoholic guitar maestro Big Bill Boozy  .

The pivotal moment came in 1965 with the release of my album about the joys of lesbianism - ” Blonde on Brunette ” . Tracks such as ” Lady Lay Lady ” and ” Knocking On Evelyn’s Door ” were big hits with audiences everywhere. And , let’s be honest , it’s clear that a certain Mr Zimmerman in the US of A heard them too.

 But I wanted to take it even further. One night in the Old Cobblers folk club in Soho I decided to do something completely revolutionary. I threw out my trusty old acoustic guitar and as I went onto the stage I plugged in a brand new electric  Fender Stratocaster.

Well ,to say it went down badly would be an understatement. Within the first few bars  I could sense the crowd getting angry and upset at my radical new sound. One man , in particular , started to gesticulate angrily towards the stage. Then I heard him shout that terrible word…. ” Judas . ”

It was obvious that I had misjudged the situation and fled the stage in tears. I vowed I would never play a folk gig again.

It was only years afterwards that I found out what really happened in the audience that night. Apparently there was a big fat bird at the front by the stage and the people behind her couldn’t see . One of them shouted out ” huge arse ” in order to get her to move. Unfortunately I couldn’t hear properly over the din and misheard it.

Still , I had no regrets. Within a couple of years I had invented punk rock after a  racous night in a Wetherspoons in Neasden with Sid Vicious and the Lieutenant Pigeon lads. But that’s another story.

5 notes

Doris Does Salad - my life in porn

Bloody hell - I’d almost forgotten that I was ever in Au Pair Girls.

To be honest , it was a bit of a box office flop. The plot was pretty basic too : a load of foreign crumpet gets flown in and causes a commotion in the trouser department of various repressed civil servant types. Hardly Citizen Kane but it paid for a bubble perm.

It also got me noticed by a dodgy Soho-based  film director called Monty Hoffman, who was making a killing from ( what we used to call ) stag films. And I’m not talking Bambi !

Hoffman wanted to make a film starring the two hottest ’ adult ’ stars of the day : John Holmes and Mary Millington. And he wanted me to be in it too.

John Holmes was the son of property magnate Barrett and was reputed to have an enormous ” endowment ” . In fact he was hung like a field mouse and had fooled everyone by making a false member for himself entirely out of marzipan. 

Mary Millington was a sweet girl but was plagued by emotional and mental problems. She suffered from Nymphomania , Kleptomania and Rollermania. It meant that she would shag anything in tartan and then steal their wallets afterwards.

Hoffman’s film was set in the seedy world of London’s randy bus conductors and was called ” Room  On Top ”. At that time the adult film industry in England was in it’s infancy and films like the Confessions series tried to combine  full frontal nudity and slapstick comedy in one package. You could be pulling your pudding one minute and  laughing at Pat Coombs the next.

So when I turned up for filming expecting to be up to my nuts all day in top notch skirt , I discovered , instead , that my role would be a trousers-on one and that  I was doing a scene set in the Neasden branch of Weightwatchers with Doris Hare and Arthur Mullard . Not so much Debbie Does Dallas as Doris Does Salad !

Bloody John Holmes had bagged all the real action . Day after day he turned up on set with his mysterious packets of almond paste ( ” I just like baking cakes in my dressing room ” ) and as soon as his bus conductor outfit was on it was off again , as he chased clippies round like there was no tomorrow - his ’ member ’ hanging out his Y - fronts like a jaundiced elephant’s trunk

But when the day came for his big scene with Mary Millington I decided to have a bit of fun of my own. Whilst he wasn’t looking I slipped into his dressing room and scoffed all his marzipan.

Holmes refused to go on set saying that he had been on the shandy at the Elstree branch of Wetherspooons the night before and couldn’t get it up. Monty Hoffman was furious.

” If Holmes can’t do it then I need a volunteer to act as his body double ,” said the director .” Who’s man enough to do it ? ”

I could see Mary Millington leaning seductively on the bonnet of an old Routemaster RCL2233. What a body , what a goer , what a ride it would be … those buses were something else !

”Any takers ? ” she said in her sexiest voice.

I opened my mouth to volunteer - but all that came out of it was about half a kilo of undigested marzipan .

Seconds later , a loud  cry of ” yus my dear ” could be heard from the back of the set as , bold as bloody brass, up to the bus stepped Arthur bloomin’ Mullard.

The big man wasted no time in getting stuck in whilst the rest of us were swiftly ushered off set. 

They say that you could hear Ms Milington’s orgasmic moans a hundred miles away. Not that I would have known …I was busy on the great white telephone for an hour or two.

” Ee man you unwell ? ” said Monty Hoffman as he popped in to wash his hands at the end of shooting.

It wasn’t until later that I realised that was a job offer not a statement of fact.

But thats another story.

What a bloody Pantomine ! I first did panto a few years ago when I joined a radical theatre group  who , instead of the usual stuff like Puss In Boots or Cinderella ,  decided to put on a pantomime version of the Marquis De Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom  . It was an all- star cast with myself , Christopher Biggins and Spit the Dog  . With Biggins in the cast I really took notice when the kids shouted out ” he’s behind you ”. Anyway ,  it  got rather  mixed  reviews  and only lasted a couple of performances before the council pulled the plug.  Luckily some of the cast were able to get other jobs straight away. Biggins called me into his dressing room and  told me that he ” had Aladdin ” . I thought I’d have to spend a miserable Christmas with no money but out of the blue I got a call from Cliff Richard. He needed a support act  for his latest tour. He had dropped the The Shadows and shacked up with anarchist co-operative Crass to perform his greatest hits in the punk style. It wasn’t really my cup of tea but I was glad of the work. He sang new versions of old classics like We Don’t ***k Anymore  , C*****g Holiday and F****g H***  T**  P****e A** F*****g C***s. I had met Cliff before and he had been a  boozer on a massive scale. He was always causing havoc in a fancy Wetherspoons somewhere with his mates Moony ( Keith Moon ) , Olly ( Oliver Reed ) , Besty ( George Best ) and Pinky ( Pinky and Perky ). There wasn’t a day go by when Sir Cliff wasn’t downing his own bodyweight in egg nog and chasing skirt like it was going out of fashion. But somewhere on this tour  he discovered Jesus and all that changed . He claimed to have been visited by God in his hotel room late one night. God talked to him about the path of spiritual enlightenment and that if he didn’t get back with The Shadows he’d be sent to Hell for eternal damnation.  Cliff immediately ditched Crass but joined a passing religious cult who had  decreed that the world was going to end on December 13th 1977 at 6.19pm . Right in the middle of chuffing Crossroads !!!   Cliff told me to get myself down to their underground bunker to escape the apocalypse - but it was the episode when , amongst other things , two-timing dentist Reg Molar fell foul of Jill Harvey’s female intuition and Doris Luke informed the kitchen staff about her botched hysterectomy  . When I looked out of the window ,as the closing credits rolled , the world appeared to have survived . Next day Cliff  looked a bit embarrassed. He said he’d been taken in by the wild claims of a cult leader called  Darren  Blenkinsop. Blenkisop had at various times claimed that we was the real son of God , that he had healing powers , and that he was the first man in Stoke to have a Findus Crispy Pancake .  We completed the tour and went our separate ways. I didn’t think anymore about Cliff until he popped up in 1988 with the Christmas Number 1 : ” Mistletoe and Wine” After just one listen I realised it bore an uncanny similarity to one of my own songs which  I had performed on that fateful tour …” Camel- Toe and Wine ”. The tune was the same but clever Sir Cliff had craftily changed a few of the lyrics to give it a seasonal theme. My original version had this chorus :  ” Closing time  , camel- toe and wine, legless slapper  pissed to the nines. There’s a tart by the fire , asleep on the floor I can see strange shape in the front of her drawers” I can’t say too much more about it as it’s in the hands of my solicitors but you can make your own minds up.

What a bloody Pantomine !

I first did panto a few years ago when I joined a radical theatre group  who , instead of the usual stuff like Puss In Boots or Cinderella ,  decided to put on a pantomime version of the Marquis De Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom  .

It was an all- star cast with myself , Christopher Biggins and Spit the Dog  . With Biggins in the cast I really took notice when the kids shouted out ” he’s behind you ”.

Anyway ,  it  got rather  mixed  reviews  and only lasted a couple of performances before the council pulled the plug.  Luckily some of the cast were able to get other jobs straight away. Biggins called me into his dressing room and  told me that he ” had Aladdin ” .

I thought I’d have to spend a miserable Christmas with no money but out of the blue I got a call from Cliff Richard. He needed a support act  for his latest tour. He had dropped the The Shadows and shacked up with anarchist co-operative Crass to perform his greatest hits in the punk style. It wasn’t really my cup of tea but I was glad of the work. He sang new versions of old classics like We Don’t ***k Anymore  , C*****g Holiday and F****g H***  T**  P****e A** F*****g C***s.

I had met Cliff before and he had been a  boozer on a massive scale. He was always causing havoc in a fancy Wetherspoons somewhere with his mates Moony ( Keith Moon ) , Olly ( Oliver Reed ) , Besty ( George Best ) and Pinky ( Pinky and Perky ). There wasn’t a day go by when Sir Cliff wasn’t downing his own bodyweight in egg nog and chasing skirt like it was going out of fashion.

But somewhere on this tour  he discovered Jesus and all that changed . He claimed to have been visited by God in his hotel room late one night. God talked to him about the path of spiritual enlightenment and that if he didn’t get back with The Shadows he’d be sent to Hell for eternal damnation. 

Cliff immediately ditched Crass but joined a passing religious cult who had  decreed that the world was going to end on December 13th 1977 at 6.19pm . Right in the middle of chuffing Crossroads !!!   Cliff told me to get myself down to their underground bunker to escape the apocalypse - but it was the episode when , amongst other things , two-timing dentist Reg Molar fell foul of Jill Harvey’s female intuition and Doris Luke informed the kitchen staff about her botched hysterectomy  .

When I looked out of the window ,as the closing credits rolled , the world appeared to have survived .

Next day Cliff  looked a bit embarrassed. He said he’d been taken in by the wild claims of a cult leader called  Darren  Blenkinsop. Blenkisop had at various times claimed that we was the real son of God , that he had healing powers , and that he was the first man in Stoke to have a Findus Crispy Pancake . 

We completed the tour and went our separate ways. I didn’t think anymore about Cliff until he popped up in 1988 with the Christmas Number 1 : ” Mistletoe and Wine”

After just one listen I realised it bore an uncanny similarity to one of my own songs which  I had performed on that fateful tour …” Camel- Toe and Wine ”.

The tune was the same but clever Sir Cliff had craftily changed a few of the lyrics to give it a seasonal theme.

My original version had this chorus :

 ” Closing time  , camel- toe and wine,
legless slapper  pissed to the nines.
There’s a tart by the fire , asleep on the floor
I can see strange shape in the front of her drawers”

I can’t say too much more about it as it’s in the hands of my solicitors but you can make your own minds up.

Holy Magick Aleister Crowley became known as the Great Beast - but he was a good mate  of mine. We did a summer season together at Blackpool with The Grumbleweeds and always kept in touch. The general public  connected him with witchcraft , satanism and all sorts of  murky going - ons . He was feared and loathed in equal measure . Yet , he was just as happy in a Wetherspoons with a creme de menthe as he was in his secret cellar buggering a goat. His main interest was magic and it was only when the likes of Ali Bongo and David Nixon ripped off his stage act that he  began to experiment with the black magic stuff. He once told me that Paul Daniels not only copied most of his tricks but also nicked his catchphrase ” you’ll like this , not a lot , but you’ll like it ,” which Aleister used to say just before performing the Rites of Eleusis at meetings of the Hermetic Order. Crowley liked a drink or three and problems started when he turned up to do children’s parties worse for wear . He’d get his tricks mixed up and instead of making balloon animals he’d be summoning up the devil or sawing the Goat of Mendes in half. Some of the kids enjoyed it but there was always a couple who got upset when one of their little friends got sacrificed.   His big break came in the Royal Variety Show of 1973 . The organisers wanted a magician to start the second half with a bang. I was ’ friendly ’ with one of the other turns that night - Dorothy Squires - and she put in a good word for him. I remember he was very excited in the pub beforehand , as he downed drink after drink. ” I’m going to show them once and for all who the best magician is ,” he said , before falling over .  When we got to the Palladium he was pretty sloshed . The Royals  had already been ’ royally ’ entertained by a line - up that included Shirley Bassey, Norman Collier , and Lieutenant Pigeon   . He wanted to make a big impression so instead of performing his planned tricks he decided on the spur of the moment to give the audience an excerpt from the  Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage - a rather complicated piece of Black Magic that normally took 30 days to complete rather than a 5 minute slot before Alvin Stardust came on. He was just completing the proclamation of the Aeon of Horus when the Queen’s head started spinning around and her crown flew across the room like a Frisbee. Green ectoplasm started gushing out of her mouth and  she started levitating over the woman selling Kia-Ora. Needless to say he got yanked off stage pretty sharpish and Alvin hadn’t even had time to get his glove on before having to launch into  ’ My Coo Ca Choo.’ Anyway , it wasn’t all lost. Prince Phillip thought it was hilarious and Aleister went on to write highly influential books such as The Gnostic Mass , The Book Of Thoth , and a couple of Mills and Boons.

Holy Magick

Aleister Crowley became known as the Great Beast - but he was a good mate  of mine. We did a summer season together at Blackpool with The Grumbleweeds and always kept in touch.

The general public  connected him with witchcraft , satanism and all sorts of  murky going - ons . He was feared and loathed in equal measure . Yet , he was just as happy in a Wetherspoons with a creme de menthe as he was in his secret cellar buggering a goat.

His main interest was magic and it was only when the likes of Ali Bongo and David Nixon ripped off his stage act that he  began to experiment with the black magic stuff. He once told me that Paul Daniels not only copied most of his tricks but also nicked his catchphrase ” you’ll like this , not a lot , but you’ll like it ,” which Aleister used to say just before performing the Rites of Eleusis at meetings of the Hermetic Order.

Crowley liked a drink or three and problems started when he turned up to do children’s parties worse for wear . He’d get his tricks mixed up and instead of making balloon animals he’d be summoning up the devil or sawing the Goat of Mendes in half. Some of the kids enjoyed it but there was always a couple who got upset when one of their little friends got sacrificed.  

His big break came in the Royal Variety Show of 1973 . The organisers wanted a magician to start the second half with a bang. I was ’ friendly ’ with one of the other turns that night - Dorothy Squires - and she put in a good word for him.

I remember he was very excited in the pub beforehand , as he downed drink after drink. ” I’m going to show them once and for all who the best magician is ,” he said , before falling over . 

When we got to the Palladium he was pretty sloshed . The Royals  had already been ’ royally ’ entertained by a line - up that included Shirley Bassey, Norman Collier , and Lieutenant Pigeon   .

He wanted to make a big impression so instead of performing his planned tricks he decided on the spur of the moment to give the audience an excerpt from the  Sacred Magic of Abramelin the Mage - a rather complicated piece of Black Magic that normally took 30 days to complete rather than a 5 minute slot before Alvin Stardust came on.

He was just completing the proclamation of the Aeon of Horus when the Queen’s head started spinning around and her crown flew across the room like a Frisbee. Green ectoplasm started gushing out of her mouth and  she started levitating over the woman selling Kia-Ora. Needless to say he got yanked off stage pretty sharpish and Alvin hadn’t even had time to get his glove on before having to launch into  ’ My Coo Ca Choo.’

Anyway , it wasn’t all lost. Prince Phillip thought it was hilarious and Aleister went on to write highly influential books such as The Gnostic Mass , The Book Of Thoth , and a couple of Mills and Boons.

Manchester 1980 and the music world is rocked by the death of Joy Division’s Ian Curtis.

But , as the saying goes , every cloud has a silver lining and as a young singer about town I fancied my chances of filling the tragic frontman’s boots.

The remaining Joy Division lads - Hooky , Barney Rubble and the other one - held a series of auditions around the north of England , and after impressing them with my version of ’ Oops Outside Your Head ’ I was pretty confident about getting the gig.Even a recent chronic bout of hemerroids couldn’t stop me from feeling pretty good about my chances.

There was just one problem. Another singer called Stu Francis was also on their shortlist - and he’d done his homework.

Hooky had already told me that the band wanted to change direction musically and produce more danceable stuff. What I didn’t know was that Stu Francis had already written a song designed to impress the JD lads … and it was personal .

Francis had been told about my little problem and couldn’t resist alluding to it in his song .

In the end neither of us got the job. They thought it would be cheaper to carry on as they were . But I had the last laugh….

Stu Francis’s two female dancers and me ended up at The Flying Horse in Weatherfield and it wasn’t me grapes that ended up getting squeezed…..it was me nuts !

1 note

Message for Duncan Norvelle

  Thanks for stealing my act and also thanks for stealing the ’ Just doors and conservatories ’ gig from under my nose. My lawyers will be in touch. And , yes I will be chasing you.With a cunting machete.

Waiting For Glazo In 1981 I was acting in avant-garde theatre doing a production of Samuel Beckett’s play about the existential angst of constipation: Krapp’s Last Crap. Beckett was a difficult character, who wrote these dense, miserable plays about nothing -much, yet craved to have his work shown on mainstream television. He used to write scripts for programmes such as Emmerdale Farm and Crossroads and send them off to the producers in a vain hope that they might get made. I remember him showing me a script he’d done for Emmerdale. Mr Wilkes and Amos Brearley spent the entire episode in a ginnell by the Woolpack discussing the relentless cylical nature of misery, whilst, next door, Dolly Skilbeck knitted the vicar a bobble hat. Unsurprisingly it didn’t impress anyone and within a few weeks the rejection letters started piling up. His Crossroads script involving Amy Turtle’s silent 17 hour chess game with Miss Diane didn’t find any favour at ATV .  Beckett was a bit disheartened after this so I suggested that he try his hand at comedy .  Within a couple of days he’d banged out a script for popular Friday children’s TV show Crackerjack. Well , needless to say the Crackerjack guys loved it. Don McLean - fresh from singing his hit single American Pie on Top Of The Pops - couldn’t wait to get stuck in to Beckett’s joke- fest. With the help of funnymen Peter Glaze and  Ed ” Pisspot ” Stewart  Beckett’s hilarious sketches and routines brought smiles to the faces of pre-pubescents everywhere. Who could forget the classic window cleaning sketch where Peter Glaze got stuck up a ladder whilst having an internal dialogue about the of inevitability of eternal misery before ’ accidentally ’ dropping his chamois onto Stewpot’s bonce ? Or when special guest star Bernie Clifton on his comedy ostrich knocked over a bucket of soapy water - symbolising the stagnation of the human soul - onto Don McLean’s dungarees…. ….and to cap it off , in grand Crackerjack tradition ,the cast shoe-horned popular chart hits into a rousing musical finale . Unfortunately some daft berk had mistaken the Punk Charts for the real Top 40 and it meant that the songs at the end included Crass’s ’ What The Fuck ’ , The 4 Skins’ ’ Clockwork Skinhead ’ and ’ How I Wrote Elastic Man ’ by The Fall.

Waiting For Glazo

In 1981 I was acting in avant-garde theatre doing a production of Samuel Beckett’s play about the existential angst of constipation: Krapp’s Last Crap.

Beckett was a difficult character, who wrote these dense, miserable plays about nothing -much, yet craved to have his work shown on mainstream television. He used to write scripts for programmes such as Emmerdale Farm and Crossroads and send them off to the producers in a vain hope that they might get made.

I remember him showing me a script he’d done for Emmerdale. Mr Wilkes and Amos Brearley spent the entire episode in a ginnell by the Woolpack discussing the relentless cylical nature of misery, whilst, next door, Dolly Skilbeck knitted the vicar a bobble hat.

Unsurprisingly it didn’t impress anyone and within a few weeks the rejection letters started piling up. His Crossroads script involving Amy Turtle’s silent 17 hour chess game with Miss Diane didn’t find any favour at ATV . 

Beckett was a bit disheartened after this so I suggested that he try his hand at comedy .  Within a couple of days he’d banged out a script for popular Friday children’s TV show Crackerjack.

Well , needless to say the Crackerjack guys loved it. Don McLean - fresh from singing his hit single American Pie on Top Of The Pops - couldn’t wait to get stuck in to Beckett’s joke- fest. With the help of funnymen Peter Glaze and  Ed ” Pisspot ” Stewart  Beckett’s hilarious sketches and routines brought smiles to the faces of pre-pubescents everywhere.

Who could forget the classic window cleaning sketch where Peter Glaze got stuck up a ladder whilst having an internal dialogue about the of inevitability of eternal misery before ’ accidentally ’ dropping his chamois onto Stewpot’s bonce ? Or when special guest star Bernie Clifton on his comedy ostrich knocked over a bucket of soapy water - symbolising the stagnation of the human soul - onto Don McLean’s dungarees….

….and to cap it off , in grand Crackerjack tradition ,the cast shoe-horned popular chart hits into a rousing musical finale . Unfortunately some daft berk had mistaken the Punk Charts for the real Top 40 and it meant that the songs at the end included Crass’s ’ What The Fuck ’ , The 4 Skins’ ’ Clockwork Skinhead ’ and ’ How I Wrote Elastic Man ’ by The Fall.

1 note

Wrestling was big business back in the 70’s. Every Saturday afternoon millions of people tuned into ITV’s World of Sport to see the finest grip ’ n’ grapple action. It’s said that the Queen Mum never missed an episode and even went to some of the bouts herself . Apparently she could be seen in the front row  clobbering the likes of Mick McManus and Jackie Pallo with her jewel encrusted handbag.  

My good friend Kendo Nagasaki was a superstar of the canvas , where he was known for his mysterious masked appearance . Kendo’s true identity was never revealed so nobody knew that he also had a lucrative sideline …as Perky in  popular bacon-based duo Pinky and Perky . Sometimes he had to ask other wrestlers to put on his mask and pretend to be him in order to fulfil his wrestling obligations whilst he was on the road

One day he asked me if I could put wrestle as him on a short tour of  venues in the midlands . At first I refused : I had never wrested anyone professionally before and I was frightened I might get hurt.

” Don’t worry ,” said Kendo. ” It’s all fixed in advance. It’s just like learning a dance. You wont get hurt , I promise .”

I wouldn’t normally have done it but I was at a bit of  a loose end . The other obvious attraction was that the Thinking Man’s Crumpet herself  , Joan Bakewell , had got the job as Ring Announcer and , let’s be honest , which red-blooded male wouldn’t want a crack at that  ?

I thought I’d pop along to her dressing room to introduce myself . She was pleased to see me but was upset about something that had happened earlier in the day. She told me that she had her high heel shoes stolen and didn’t particularly want to have to go into the ring wearing a pair of sandals.

” I don’t think I can go on without some proper footwear ,’ said Joan ” and I will be too busy reviewing this new Doris Lessing novel for The Observer to be able to go out and  find a new pair . What can I do ? ”

I sensed an opportunity. I jumped in a taxi and shot off to the poshest shoe shop in Dudley . I bought the sexiest pair of stilettos in the shop and hurried back to the venue.   

The first night in Dudley I was due to fight hairy sack-wearing caveman Giant Haystacks. Haystacks looked tough but out of the ring liked nothing better than reading the People’s Friend and knitting balaclavas for the mentally handicapped. 

Just before my bout was due to start another wrestler called Big Daddy came into my dressing room. He’d been having trouble with his bowels due to his high protein diet of boiled eggs , curry and stewed tripe. It had got so bad that the doctor  was concerned enough to ask Big Daddy if he could supply him with a stool sample. Big Daddy ( whose real name was Shirley Temple ) wasn’t sure how to go about it.

 ” But I don’t even sit on a stool ! ” said the bemused heavyweight.

 Luckily I had a bit of experience in this respect - being on tour with Lieutenant Pigeon  for three months made sure of that - and I could advise him on what the doctor was really asking for.

My bout against Haystacks went well enough. There was a bit of pushing and shoving and the obligatory belly-splash before I managed to kick him out of the ring. He pretended to be angry but I knew that he was happy enough .His favourite programme , Songs of Praise , was just about to start and he hadn’t missed an episode since the Durham Cathedral Bell Ringing special of 1968.

My chance to impress Joan had come . I dashed off to grab the shoe box and darted round to her dressing room.

” Joan , you will go to the ball , ” I said ,  lifting  the box up to her face.

” A slipper for a rose , ” I added , before removing the lid.

Her face turned ashen and a terrible aroma filled the room.

” You bastard ! ” she cried and  dashed out  in tears.

Instead of the beautiful new shoes in the box it  was one of Big Daddy’s big logs , steam still rising   , and giving off the most ungodly pong.  

The next night in Wolverhampton  I gave BD the trashing of his life. He’d tried to apologise , saying that he couldn’t find anything else to  use. But I was in no mood for forgiveness

” This isn’t in the bloomin’ script , ” he exclaimed during Round One as I  kicked his fat ar.e all round the ring before lifting him up and chucking him in the general direction of Kent Walton.









” Biffa” Bindon - my best mate remembered One of my best mates in the Business was legendary hard man and actor : John ” Biffa ” Bindon Biffa and me first met when we were both cast in a London based sexpoitation flick called ” Carnaby Street Crumpet  ” . He had a much larger part than mine.  Pretty soon we were inseperable drinking buddies in the boozers and clubs down the Kings Road , where our nights out would inevitable involve a dozen bottles of champagne and a punch-up before heading of to Biffa’s pad with a couple of mini-skirted birds in tow. He was also very well known for the size of …how shall I put this ?…his right honourable member ! Biffa reckoned that he could get 6 owls , two penguins and a parrot to perch on it . I remember one day he really got into trouble in London Zoo trying to prove it to a couple of bits of fluff.  Biffa’s reputation with his fists meant he was soon in demand as a debt collector and general enforcer. In the mid 70’s me and him were asked to do the ’ security ’ for Led Zepelin’s infamous tour of the states.I could tell you some stories that would make your hair curl but it’s an unwritten rule that ” what happens on tour stays on tour ”. Let’s just say that I have never eaten boil in the bag cod since ! Then when we got back we took on an ever bigger job …doing the British tour of hell -raising chart toppers Lieutenant Pigeon.   Zep had been a handful but the Pigeon took it to new levels. They travelled the country in a luxury customed coach that they called The Lieutenant Love Wagon . To all intent and purposes it was just a motorised knocking shop.Biffa loved it.Our job was to make sure the group got paid ( in cash ) and ensure that the supply lines of cracking looking skirt were kept open. I remember one night the Pigeon had played Batley Variety with support from music hall throwbacks Hinge and Brackett. Biffa said to me ” I don’t ‘alf fancy those two , let’s make sure we keep these stunners for ourselves.” So once the concert was over we went  back to their place and cracked open a bottle or three of Harvey’s Bristol Cream. To cut a long story short Biffa took out his trouser python and stuck it in one of Hinge’s antimacassars. ” Here darlin’ have a look at this ” said Biffa as he whipped away the lacy chair covering.  Hinge popped on her pinz nez and popped out a little surprise of her own. Biffa and I legged it. I haven’t seen anyone so confused until Wacko Jacko got  Jimmy Krankie back to Neverland. Biffa was a great friend of Princess Margaret who often invited him over to her luxury holiday retreat on the tropical island of Mustique , where she had a row of chalets reserved for her own personal use 365 days a year. I went a few times and got to hang out with other celebrity guests like Peter Sellars ,Michael Caine , Joan Collins  and Neville Wanless. Everyone knows that Princess Margaret liked a drink but what is less widely known is that she had her own branch of Wetherspoons built inside Buckingham Palace.The  Queen Mum was a regular and never missed  Curry Night on a Tuesday until the day she died.

” Biffa” Bindon - my best mate remembered

One of my best mates in the Business was legendary hard man and actor : John ” Biffa ” Bindon

Biffa and me first met when we were both cast in a London based sexpoitation flick called ” Carnaby Street Crumpet  ” . He had a much larger part than mine.

 Pretty soon we were inseperable drinking buddies in the boozers and clubs down the Kings Road , where our nights out would inevitable involve a dozen bottles of champagne and a punch-up before heading of to Biffa’s pad with a couple of mini-skirted birds in tow.

He was also very well known for the size of …how shall I put this ?…his right honourable member ! Biffa reckoned that he could get 6 owls , two penguins and a parrot to perch on it . I remember one day he really got into trouble in London Zoo trying to prove it to a couple of bits of fluff. 

Biffa’s reputation with his fists meant he was soon in demand as a debt collector and general enforcer. In the mid 70’s me and him were asked to do the ’ security ’ for Led Zepelin’s infamous tour of the states.I could tell you some stories that would make your hair curl but it’s an unwritten rule that ” what happens on tour stays on tour ”. Let’s just say that I have never eaten boil in the bag cod since !

Then when we got back we took on an ever bigger job …doing the British tour of hell -raising chart toppers Lieutenant Pigeon.  

Zep had been a handful but the Pigeon took it to new levels. They travelled the country in a luxury customed coach that they called The Lieutenant Love Wagon . To all intent and purposes it was just a motorised knocking shop.Biffa loved it.Our job was to make sure the group got paid ( in cash ) and ensure that the supply lines of cracking looking skirt were kept open. I remember one night the Pigeon had played Batley Variety with support from music hall throwbacks Hinge and Brackett. Biffa said to me ” I don’t ‘alf fancy those two , let’s make sure we keep these stunners for ourselves.” So once the concert was over we went  back to their place and cracked open a bottle or three of Harvey’s Bristol Cream. To cut a long story short Biffa took out his trouser python and stuck it in one of Hinge’s antimacassars.

” Here darlin’ have a look at this ” said Biffa as he whipped away the lacy chair covering. 

Hinge popped on her pinz nez and popped out a little surprise of her own.

Biffa and I legged it. I haven’t seen anyone so confused until Wacko Jacko got  Jimmy Krankie back to Neverland.

Biffa was a great friend of Princess Margaret who often invited him over to her luxury holiday retreat on the tropical island of Mustique , where she had a row of chalets reserved for her own personal use 365 days a year. I went a few times and got to hang out with other celebrity guests like Peter Sellars ,Michael Caine , Joan Collins  and Neville Wanless.

Everyone knows that Princess Margaret liked a drink but what is less widely known is that she had her own branch of Wetherspoons built inside Buckingham Palace.The  Queen Mum was a regular and never missed  Curry Night on a Tuesday until the day she died.