Sunday, 31 March 2013

Why The Huhnes Should Not Be In Jail


Tonight he was grinning at the cameras from behind the prison fence, while she uncannily resembles a notorious American homophobe--but one who knows how to smile.
 
I hate him because he was inconsiderate enough to have them throw the book at him on the day they learned the identity of our beloved Richard III--who came from an age when crooked politicians ended up dangling at Tyburn. They broke into one of the most riveting and important press-conferences in British history to flash the news about this pompous nonentity.
 
Even so, they should not have gone to jail. They haven't really harmed anyone--just made each other look like prize plonkers, and from his point of view told us what we already know, that some politicians are slippier than eels and only interested in Number One.
 
No, they should have given them seven months at Piccadilly Station, mopping out the loos. Then they would both have something to smile about and the public would feel that justice had been done, instead of dispatching them to what appears to be a health farm.

Wednesday, 27 March 2013

Richard III: Stunning New Portrait


This I find staggeringly moving. After five-hundred years, the nasty rumours about how Richard looked can all be quashed.
 
I've been invited to write a quartet of novels about my favourite period in history, The Wars of the Roses, using a script which has lain dormant for years--the biographies just kept getting in the way! The first one comes out in a few months time in what has been my busiest year ever--thanks to the handful of loonies who blasted word of my 'dirty deeds' all across the Internet, I'm getting stuff published which might otherwise have stayed in the files in the loft. I'm not up to Richard yet. He'll be in Volume Three, but at least we now know what he really looked like.

Wednesday, 20 March 2013

The Wars Of The Roses


Those lunatics and detractors certainly have their uses!

Last November I was accused of a heinous crime--there's a book in that which will see at my most acerbic ever, and all well within the confines of the law and public decency--and despite the sterling efforts of four individuals to see me incarcerated, I was completely exonerated. Indeed, I received a very big apology one of my oppressors ended up with much egg on its face. Not that this has stopped it from trying to bait me since my ordeal. I will of course ignore it.
 
As a result of this, one of my machines was taken away for examination, and as the project I was working on was on that machine, I had to find something else to do for a little while. So I tidied the loft, which is effectively another room of the house, and began going through a few old scripts I had almost forgotten about. Then a fruit-loop began writing to publishers, asking them not to have anything to do with me, if on the off-chance one of my scripts ended up on their desk. One of these editors I had worked with before at my current publisher. We got to talking about my 'loft projects', and she said it would be a pity if they ended up in a skip after my death, which might be imminent given all the threats I have received on behalf of the above quagmire quartet. To cut a long story short, I e-mailed a script on the Monday, it went to the next level by Friday, and two weeks later I signed the contract.
 
The process was repeated at the end of January. I'd long since got the machine back which contained the 'big' project, but had to set it to one side because now, another publisher asked me to submit a script. 'Nobody could be that bad a writer or so vile a person as these people have made you out to be, so naturally we became interested' the editor said, 'And if your books are as bad as some of these Amazon twits say they are, why on earth do you keep getting published?' My sentiments exactly. The script was submitted on the Friday, and this time the contract was signed four days later.
 
Now--well, towards the end of the year--I am to published the first in a four-part series about The Wars of the Roses, all linked to the discovery of Richard III, itself one of the happiest days of my life. I am also pencilled in for a 2015 television series about Hollywood, which will almost certainly see me travelling to Los Angeles next year, providing my detractors have not had me bumped off by then. So, all in all, I have much to thank these people for!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Tuesday, 19 March 2013

The Sun Steps Into The Gutter Again


Gary O'Shea--or should that be Tessie--once again shows us how low journalists can sink when writing or referring to a near-tragedy. As most people know, I equate most tabloid journalists with dog manure, pavement vomit, and anything generally distasteful. Sun journalists are in a league of their own.
 
Morrissey has been VERY ill. He could have died. As such, he is thinking of retiring for the sake of his health. And how does Tessie caption the picture accompanying his feature? 'Heaven Knows He's Miserable Now!'
 
I don't know about the car on the M6. The way these people are going, we're going to be wishing for a double-decker bus.
 
And that dog-muck on the pavement? If Moz stepped in it, you wouldn't be fit to wipe it off his shoes.
 
 
 
 
 

Monday, 18 March 2013

Hacked-Off Or Jacked Off?


So, today is D-Day for the hypocrites--the ones who yearn for press regulation, but only when it suits them. An actor allows a prostitute to blow him in the front of the car, he gets caught. You or I would be sent to jail. He achieves world fame, and moans about the press writing about him. That's after he's been on Desert Island Discs and told the host how he loves to watch celebrities squirm when caught out. You shouldn't have done it in the first place, son! Another celeb is trailed by the tabloids because it (see how I don't add the gender?) appears to be permanently on the razzle, making an absolute tool of itself, getting drunk and disorderly. The same happened to Amy Winehouse, and another celeb. It's called the 'Liz Taylor Syndrome'. They are on their way to a secret rendezvous but they tip off the press first so that they can make a big entrance--then they moan about the press being there, who THEY have told! Someone else complains about being 'outed', when THEY have outed someone else. When you do things purposely to keep yourself in the press, the press does not differentiate between grief and turpitude. The parents of a missing child bit the hand that feeds. On and on it goes...
 
Only the Dowlers come out of this as decent, normal people worthy of our respect. The others are not worth--well, you get it, from a great height.
 
Not so long ago I wrote that my heartfelt desire would be to read the headlines that a certain pair, along with a journalist I loathe, had ended up mangled in a wreckage on the M6--or maybe it was the M1. Same difference, same desire, and I would still rejoice--save that since then there has been an additional passenger. A bunch of lunatics (one is depicted above, receiving a kiss from the handsome young man) made a big fuss of it. 'Mrs Teeth' is still making a big fuss of it. The other day, someone made a comment which links a Cher song to the London Marathon. It was irresponsible--very irresponsible, though the comments which accompanied it made me titter.
 
We all say silly things, but sometimes they have no meaning. After an argument one might say to the other person, 'Drop dead!' We don't want them to, we just say it! It means the same as 'Get stuffed!' And now, the same lunatics who want the pressed gagged over reporting their 'beloved darlings' are wanting this person to be hanged, drawn and quartered.
 
I evaded gracing the front page of one tabloid because I threatened to spill the beans on a certain matter--nothing whatsoever to do with the 'beloved darlings'. Maybe--and I said maybe--I should get in touch with this maligned person and drop a hint over what I know. It's bound to come out some time.
 
And now, I guess, 'Mrs Teeth' and her pals--who wildly exaggerate the 'death-threat' to their 'beloved darlings' will be organising a few more to be sent my way to add to the ones I already have in my collection.
 
Double standards, my dear! And what is the most dangerous weapon in the world. A gun? A sword? A halberd? A bomb?
 
No, 'tis the mystery of silence and what might or might not happen next! 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Saturday, 16 March 2013

Morrissey: Get Well Soon!


He really is an amazing man, and one I will never cease to admire. He is English--NOT British--and is proud of the fact. Some of his views may not be shared by all, but he is essentially a good man, one I am very proud to have been involved with. I've sent him personal messages, but this one is on behalf of the people who come here--Inch Allah, this Blog should hit the million mark over the weekend, not bad for a man who is allegedly hated by the world and its mother! In fact, the messages received by me regarding my recent family bereavement have touched me greatly--hundreds of them, proving--not that proof was needed--that there are some truly wonderful people out there.
 
Morrissey us unwell, and has been for some time. His friends and fans are increasingly concerned for his health. He works hard, and is loved hard in return.
 
All we want, Stephen Patrick, is for you to be well again. Please oblige us. Speaking personally, few have inspired me as much as you--and you know that I'm always here to be dusted down and placed on the mantelpiece. XXX
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Friday, 15 March 2013

The New Pope: Too Good To Be True?

I loved the Polish Pope: warm, charismatic, tough, ex-footballer, a man's man who I felt comfortable with, as a Jewish-Catholic.
 
The last one was a creep. He looked like a character out of Edgar Lustgarten, and I'm sure the reason for his retirement will soon be brought out into the open. Pope's NEVER retire.
 
This one I feel equally uncomfortable with. We're never going to have a Pope who agrees with condoms, gays, abortion, and treating women as less than secondary citizens. But he's already opened his trap about the Falklands and wound up a few folk here.
 
There's something very disconcerting about him. I can't quite put my finger on it, but mark my word--once the novelty wears off, so will the popularity and those cardinals will realise what a mistake they made, voting someone in who comes from a dodgy regime. 

Wednesday, 13 March 2013

'Our George' GeorgeFormby

'Our George' and 'Our Annie's Funeral'.
Second printing. I think it looks better with the full face--he wasn't that bad looking when he was younger!
'Our Annie' was my grandmother, whose funeral was as riotous as her life! They'd got her into the hearse when one of my aunts found a pair of dentures on the kitchen window-sill...

 
 


Elizabeth Taylor In Sweden

In any language, Elizabeth was beautiful. In my opinion, her best films were the ones she usually was slated for--'Butterfield 8', 'Cleopatra' and 'These Old Broads'. The latter had Joan Collins, Shirley MacLaine...and Debbie Reynolds, the old 'enemy' with whom she appears in several scenes, though they never actually met on the set until the very final scene--clever cameraman! This book--not the Swedish version--has now hit the six-figure sales mark, and has just been released in China, a place I thought might never have heard of some of the stars I write about. My Errol Flynn and Rock Hudson got into the best-sellers there. Very shocking, considering some of the episodes I describe, regarding Errol's exploits in that part of the world. Ting-Ling O'Connor apparently really did exist!
 
 


Tuesday, 12 March 2013

Recap


After contacting my team, my advisers, my protector (oh, yes!) and my lawyer, I have decided that I will not be dictated to by someone who signs themself simply as 'Anonymous'. Why would should a mighty organisation wish to associate itself with small fry like Evelyn Zumaya and Justine Spencer --the latter of whom I have heard nothing since she tried and failed to have me sent to jail? Why indeed should they wish to bother with small fry such as myself? I'm not a royal, or a terrorist, or a master criminal. Is this just someone--and it does not take much figuring out who--trying to stir things to put us at loggerheads again? And if this person is really against so-called bullying, should they not fairly look at both sides?
 
Therefore the Blog returns. I won't be writing about anyone on Twitter, and I won't be writing about Justine Spencer and her cohorts at all. Why should I? As for Zumaya, she is absolutely obsessed with me. She NEVER writes anything unless it is about me. Even during a supposed intimate dinner with friends, she makes twenty tweets attacking me. She also sets people up--people I now know are completely innocent, such as a young woman in Wales and a priest in America. I have communicated with both, and both have denied any involvement with her and even condemned her. She is a pathological liar. 'Anonymous' warned me to stay away from Zumaya. Why? Who does she know? And as long as she keeps attacking me, she says be way of defending herself, then I too will have my say, in defence of myself. This woman has opened at least three Blogs dedicated ONLY to attacking me, and she persists in posting youtubes, 28 so far. THAT is bullying.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Georgette Plana RIP

 
Georgette Plana, who died today at the ripe old age of 95.
We bumped into a her a few times on the circuit. During the Sixties she made a comeback and topped the French charts with 'Riquita', performed in the retro-chanson style.
I last saw her Chez Manouche--another tremendous character who is in my new book. Georgette was totally bombed out, but still able to stagger to the jukebox and put on her own recording of 'Riquita' and belt out the words before hitting the deck. She reminded me of Fréhel in 'Pepe le Moko', when she sang 'Ou sont-ils' to Jean Gabin.
Fantastic lady who has left us with a wealth of happy memories! RIP, Georgette!


Monday, 11 March 2013

The New Novel

 
 
This should have been my second novel--the first to come out in July. However, due to the efforts of a bunch of McCann supporter loonies who warned companies NOT to publish me, the reverse has happened and they are rush-releasing this one.
 
I have removed the publisher's name for now in case the likes of Doris Dawson (I know who she is and of course so do the police) decided to blitz this one like they did when I published Garbo. This time, the trap has been set and we shall be waiting.
 
Oh, and this is Joey. One mean son-of-a-bitch when he wants to be!
 
 
 

 

Sunday, 10 March 2013

Let Syria Fight Its Own Battles


The days are rare when you help an old person who is being mugged in the street--you want to, but even though the mugger is a ten-year-old child, he or she might just plant a blade between your ribs. So you don't interfere. In our cabinet in the UK we have TWENTY-TWO millionaires, people who wouldn't know in a million years how the other half live. A bit like Marie Antoinette asking the rabble to eat cake. This country doesn't have enough money for its own poor people, who progressively are getting poorer, but this government is persistently doling out aid to foreigners instead of leaving them to the their own devices. They got themselves into this mess, let them get themselves out of it. Would THEY help us? I think not.
I'm not saying that I dislike our leaders, only that I've seen better propositions in the bottom of public toilets. Anybody can come here and ask for a handout, and get it. They spend millions on protecting, housing and feeding a radical cleric, instead of--well, you get the picture. They raise millions from projects such as 'Children In Need' to send to foreign countries whose people are only in dire straits because of corrupt governments who would rather kill one another than feed the flock. Like America, they stick their noses into every war, and end up with our soldiers and thousands of innocent people getting slaughtered.
All a waste of time and life. If they want to send anybody into Syria, send in the governmental heads. They call themselves leaders--let THEM lead the troups and risk being among the first to get blown to bits. If this happened, there would be fewer wars. 

Saturday, 9 March 2013

Justin Bieber: Grow Up & Drop The God Nonsense

In the words of the great Walter Matthau, he is possessed of all the talent of a butterfly's fart.
He's a precocious brat, nineteen going on seven, and what he really needs is drop all this God nonsense and grow up. Too many screaming girls, too much of his own way. He needs two strong hands--one to keep him under control, the other to give his arse a good spanking, and not in a sexual way, that I have the feeling he might like that.
My feeling is that if this does not happen, we'll have another River Phoenix-McCaulay Culkin situation. The latter I predict will be dead by the end of the year unless he shapes up. Gazza likewise.


Friday, 8 March 2013

Rudolph Valentino: Lovers, Friends & Foes

Both books are now out.
People may want to know why, when I had several quite luctrative offers, I opted to self-publish?
Quite simple. To stop some poor publisher being hounded by vile, nasty women--and four in particular--who blitzed my publishers and just about everyone else connected with me last year when I published my biography of Greta Garbo.
If you want to get rid of me, hire an assassin. I certainly wouldn't put it past you. Don't make complete arseholes of yourselves by pestering others.








Divine Was Divine!


He really was what it said on the tin!
Divine, aka Glenn Milstead, left us 25 years ago today.
I admired him because he was different, because he was impecably brave to do what he did. I saw him on stage a few times, but met him just the once.
His alter-ego was vulgar. Glenn never was. But those on-stage put-downs!
I adopted one of his lines for a play of mine. When it was read at a workshop in London, it brought the house down--I won't repeat it here, but it appplies to EVERYONE who has attacked me.
It's because of people like Glenn that I take whatever comes my way. 'I can take it, the givers can't take it back'. That was another of his lines.
He was only 42 when he died, but he was a very lodestar of talent--and also the great love of Tab Hunter's life. That says a lot!

Thursday, 7 March 2013

RIP Cous Cous


I feel such sympathy for this gorgeous creature. A woman (pity it couldn;t have been the Zumaya woman or the window-cleaner's wife) is stupid enough to get inside his cage, he kills her--that's what lions do: the law of the jungle says that we are food--and then they kill him. It's all so pointless and so utterly cruel. He didn't ask for the silly bitch to act like an idiot, and what's happened to her serves her right. There was a man on youtube the other night who went into a lions' enclosure and was showing off, how much they trusted him, how clever he was that he can play with them and tickle them. They'll snap one day, and his stupidity will cost them their lives. I now hope that someone sues the dead woman's family for damages for costing this beautiful animal its life.
 
 
 
 

Sunday, 3 March 2013

Camané - Fado da sina- Prince Of fado



It's nice to see me mentioned in the Portuguese and japanese press today regarding my comments about this man. Camané is without any doubt the finest living male fadista in Portugal today--and sadly the only one I don't know or haven't spoken to on the phone. I do know his ex-wife, though, who stood around six inches taller than Carlos--he is proof that perfection really does come in small packages!
Amália Rodrigues spoke to me twice on the phone, and asked me if I would adapt one of her fados into French--I did, and she sang my version of 'Tudo iste e fado' several times, and rehearsed 'Rasa o passada'. She joked at the time that I had made a rod for my own back, and each time I go back to Lisboa I'm expected to get up and sing them--the last time was with Amália's guitarists.
Amália was one of the most important people in my life--a woman I would have given my last breath to. Sounds silly, I know, but my dog died on the same day as she died, and it helped the whole family with our grief. She is one of thr handful of people I think about with affection every day.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Friday, 1 March 2013

Yet Another Classic From Morrissey!


Quote from the bequiffed wonder, 'If more men were homosexual, there would be no wars--because homosexual men would never kill other men, whereas heterosexual men love killing other men.'
 
He has a point! The other quip which tickled me yesterday came from Chris Huhne's wife, who said that the recent problems she had almost drove her to suicide.
 
If I was the spitting image of Evelyn Zumaya, I think I'd be hurling myself off that Hollywood sign quicker than grease lightning!