Saturday, 28 February 2015

Fat People On Mobility Scooters: Bravo Katie Hopkins!


Don't get me wrong, I'm all for mobility scooters--when they're used for what they're intended, ie. people who genuinely have difficulty getting around.
Yesterday, Katie Hopkins--a fine woman and a lady I admire, though I'm well aware she finds it hard getting compliments--commented that these contraptions are a walking advert for KFC.
Bravo, Katie!
It used to be a hazard crossing the dual carriageway during my weekly walk into town. Motorists and lorries thundering by and hitting potholes--not good if it's been raining. Cyclists who cannot tell the difference between the pavement and the road.
Last week I encountered half a dozen mobility scooter Stirling Moss aficionados. Every single one of them similarly contained an aficionado of the kebab shop--not one under forty. Under forty years, and perhaps barely under forty stones. In Sainsbury's it was worse--like a racetrack as they charged around, hitting stacks of groceries and trolleys, getting stuck between the checkouts. And when you see what they have in their own trolleys--chips, burgers, fizzy drinks, chocolates and cakes--in fact, every item you could name which makes them too fat to walk like the rest of us. Oh, and invariably on the way out, they knock over the newspaper stand as they head for their weekend ration of Benson & Hedges.
My opinion--unless these people have a solid, doctor's recommendation that they need to ride around and create havoc in these contraptions, they should be taxed like cars. And like cars, they should be made to ride them on the road. Maybe if that happened, some similarly obese politician might do something about what has become a pariah.

Friday, 27 February 2015

Gary Glitter

I'm not sure what to think about Gary Glitter getting his come-uppance--16 years in the pokey--after all these years. Is it an excessive sentence, bearing in mind that with our way out of touch with reality judicial system, Jihadi John would probably get less if they catch him?
It seems odd to me that Glitter can get 16 years, and a typical life sentence in the UK is 12 years, less for good behaviour. In my neck of the woods recently, a woman was fined £50 for microwaving a cat, while a 75-year-old chap was fined £100 and given a suspended sentence for feeding pigeons.
While I'm not excusing him--my opinion is that with paedophiles, like homophobes and racists, the only good one is a dead one--Glitter's crimes were committed between 1975 and 1980, and I wouldn't doubt that nothing would have come of this had it not been for so many victims, real and invented, wanting to hop on to the Jimmy Savile bandwagon. I don't believe for one minute the trauma some of these victims claim they have gone through. If these men did these things, and if people knew that they were doing then--including it would appear Margaret Thatcher in Savile's case--then why have they all waited until now to come out of the woodwork? Money, perhaps?
Also, why aren't the authorities asking why these victims never came forward. The statute of limitation in the UK for social media crimes--malicious communication on Twitter, Facebook and via e-mail, etc--is twelve months, after which no one can do a thing, legally, to whomever has maliciously communicated. In some instances it's only six months. With some of these sex cases, the incidents go back as far as fifty years. Who can remember what happened that long ago, and in such minute detail? And isn't it odd that almost all of those who have been nabbed are now in their twilight years? Is there ever going to be any likelihood, for instance, of any A-lister currently riding the crest of a wave being collared? Somehow I doubt it. 
Even so, the mind only boggles who will be next.  

Thursday, 26 February 2015

43 Years Today Since I Acquired The Stepmother From Hell!

It''s all in the book--my psychotic father and the woman he married eight months after my mother's suicide. The worst thing of all is that Jeanne and I, and one of her sons, encouraged them. Within days it fell apart--the defining moment being after I returned from the cemetery after laying flowers on my mother's grave.
'I'm your mother now,' she said.
Like hell she was! She may have been a good mother to her brood, but I and the whole of my family loathed her. It's all in the book.
Then when Jeanne and I married the same year, these two and three of my 'siblings' said that we would last six months if we were lucky. 
We've been married over forty years. And the siblings? Well, three of them turned out to be pretty decent. As for the other three who mocked us--well, let's just say that betwixt sojourns which involved Her Majesty's Pleasure and more broken relationships than you could shake a stick at, their personal lives have left a great deal to be desired.
And below, in honour of O.B., as his family called him after the way he had treated my mother, a little of what I write about him in the book is included below. 


Evil, cruel, contrived, nasty, homophobic, slimy, pathetic, puerile, poisonous, loathsome, psychotic, despotic, anti-Semitic, bigoted, adulterous and loud-mouthed. These are just some of the terms—and I’m sure there are more—that applied to George Spurr, my adoptive father. Add to this roster child-beater, rapist and crook, and this just about sums him up.

Sunday, 22 February 2015

Janis Joplin Queen Of Heartache? More Like Queen Of Headache!

A couple of years ago I was offered a commission to write a book called 'The 27 Club' about all the 'great' stars who had expired at this age. I turned it down because there was no way I could ever write anything positive about  unholy rows such as Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix. Jim Morrison, a very big yes. We often go to the Morrison Bar in Paris.

Last night, ahead of the Golvkin fight (our boy won!) I watched BBC 3 'Queens of Heartache'. Piaf, Maria Callas, Billie Holiday, Judy Garland...YES. But this long-haired opiated mess who sounds like a tom-cat having its nuts lowered slowly into a blender? Somehow I think the BBC were taking the piss. I never understood what people ever saw in her. Half the time you couldn't understand what she was wailing about, and the other half of the time she didn't know which planet she was on. I would call her 'Queen of Headache'. Marlene Dietrich summed her up perfectly:
'Anybody that finds the noise that Janis Joplin makes even remotely entertaining needs to have their head read!'

Saturday, 21 February 2015

Regarding Alleged Schoolgirl Recruits

The airwaves are buzzing today with the news that three schoolgirls have headed to Syria to allegedly become 'Isis brides', and that Britain wants them back. Has Britain been asked, and made a unanimous response? I think not.

I don't believe for one moment that these girls were 'groomed'. They are said to have attended a good school and to be highly intelligent. In my opinion they knew exactly what they were doing, and I would feel very concerned if they lived around the corner from me and came back home having acquired goodness knows what knowledge while over there.
There's a lot to be said as to why we have a problem with terrorists. Politicians around the world poking their noses into other people's affairs. We never had this in the Sixties when I was growing up. Different countries have different ways in dealing with their problems, whether this be problems political or social. We have our rules and way of life, they have theirs. We may not agree with some of the things these countries do, and we may think them barbaric and behind the times. Whatever our thoughts, it is not our duty to interfere unless it actually involves us, which if one goes back in time one finds that it did not until we made it so. Go back to the Crusades and you will read a lot about 'saintly' Christians persecuting the so-called 'Infidels'. And what good did it do? Even them, England was wallowing in its own mess without interfering in something that was no concern of theirs.
Regarding the errant schoolgirls, the message is simple. They went to Syria of their own volition. Let them stay there, so that the rest of us may sleep safely in our beds on a night.

Tuesday, 10 February 2015

Does Amazon Support Homophobia?

A friend of mine just had his Amazon sellers account suspended, and then his selling privileges removed--for selling 'prohibited articles'.
My friend went through his Inventory with a lady from Amazon, on the phone, and was told that the reason for the closure was that the word 'gay' is picked out as unacceptable on their system.
'Gay Times' therefore, which has no nudity, is regarded as prohibitive. It is an issue that I feel very strongly about, as a member of the Ant-Homophobia League, and one which needs to be redressed.
Sadly, Amazon have us all by the short and curlies.They corner the market with everything. Some loony complains, or writes a disgusting review of an item, and whoever is selling it has to suffer the consequences.
I think my readers and fans know exactly what I think about homophobes. It was all so much easier when we had things called bookshops.

Monday, 9 February 2015

Joyce L Buckley: Clark Gable Fanatic Calls Me A Crook For Writing About His Bad Breath

Joyce L Buckley, who 'reviews under the pseudonym 'Two Shoes'. Every now and then, one of these necrophiliacs hobbles in with words of wisdom regarding my books. Almost always they are women--a recent exception was a gay pastor who allegedly takes himself in hand while watching old Jean Harlow movies, following hot in the footsteps of another gay pastor who allegedly expired doing the same while lusting over Errol Flynn. They are a special breed.
In some ways I feel honoured that some old biddy would sit down at her computer for hours just to diss little old me, rather than just ignore me--invariably the 'reviews' get removed. And such reviews DO sell books, which is why I am persistently in the best-sellers, sometimes with books that have been out for years--and on at least six occasions reprinted in the wake of the fuss--while the rivals which these bozos support invariably fall into the ditch. When I first started out in 1987, my then agent made me aware of the two primary don'ts of publishing. 'Never attack another writer in print,' David Bolt said. 'And never tell people to buy your books, as they invariably will do the opposite. Let them decide for themselves.' Good advice which I have heeded.
Joyce L Buckley uses such terms to describe me as 'crook', 'trash', 'fraudulent' and 'blood-sucking leech'. She asks that I 'should be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town', and asks for all good reviews of my books to be removed from Amazon.
Her reason for this? I observed that Clark Gable had bad breath and slept his way up the Hollywood ladder. One imagines this elderly Clarkiephobe prancing about her garden dressed as bucolic Scarlett O'Hara shrieking that tomorrow will be another day while the birds drop out of the trees.
'Buckleys' is a quaint English term for 'no chance', and a quick flick through this No-Chancer's reviews offers an insight into her character. She reviews salad-dressings and make up--though she does (check out her picture on Amazon and see for yourselves) oddly resemble a cross between Carol Channing and a corpse. She dislikes people writing about Jews and Einstein--and tries to make herself appear half-human by liking opera and Piaf. I don't doubt for one moment that right now she'll be sharpening her claws regarding my work on the latter. Oh, and she has a passion for fingerless gloves--but not for matching masks to cover that sardonic mush.
Maybe she should pair up with the aforementioned gentleman of the cloth for a remake of 'Rain'. She looks like she might enjoy living in a swamp! Even the pictures on her wall are not straight!

Saturday, 7 February 2015

Synopsys | Mario Lanza: Sublime Serenade By David Bret

Synopsis | Chanson By David Bret

Bravo Katie Hopkins For Telling It As It Is About Katie Price

Yesterday, for just one hour, I actually thought that I might have liked Katie Price, aka Jordan, a river which by her own admission has been crossed many times.
It's a sad indictment of the British public that they can vote in their thousands for a "role model" who came into the house ten days after Hurricane Hilton had virtually demolished the place and everyone's sanity with it, and spent three weeks doing virtually nothing. Her first words upon descending those steps were, "Fuck, I'm going to shit myself".
The only time Katie Price sprang to half-life was to talk about her tits, what her husbands and ex-lovers--so many of these, even Confucius would be confused--liked to have shoved up their bottoms. We had lectures on vaginal squirting, we got to know how prodigious Calum Best is in the meat department. Kav--asked not about his singing career but whether his first time with a man had involved anal, and whether he was a top or bottom--was given a lesson in oral which involved a mouthful of flour and a dash to the toilet to heave. And this creature is supposed to inspire Britain's younger generation because she is "honest"? What next--teaching Little Jimmy the rudimentaries of how to be a Dilly Boy, and the Mother Superior preaching to her flock about anal warts and how to get good value out of the latest vibrating cock-ring?
And what about Miss P's hammy acting and hilariously staged panic-attacks. "She's not been well," we were told constantly throughout the aftermath of this charade. This sad little girl being helped down the steps by Emma Willis, the crocodile tears and the persistent reminder how "honest" and "sweet" she is. A big splash was made of her leaving the house for medical treatment, while Katie herself admitted that she had been "quiet" because she had been on medication. She shouldn't have been in the bloody house in the first place!
I feel deeply offended for the likes of the reformed Calum Best, Keith Chegwin, Kav, Michelle Visage (so good you say her name twice)--truly decent human beings who lost out to this fake concoction of plastic surgery and expletives. Most especially I feel offended on behalf of Katie Hopkins, who really did tell it like it is--while Rylan 'Mr Piano Teeth' Clark gurned and tried to make excuses while a woman worth a million Jordans spoke out for the vast majority of the British public by saying exactly what we were all thinking of this outrageous charade. In my opinion, Channel Five knew how it would all end before they put her in there.
It was also very brave of the other housemates to say that they had nothing against Katie for stealing their thunder and winning the show--allegedly being paid more than they were for sitting around most of the time less active than Perez Hilton's Mr Bunnykins. I think we all know exactly what every one of them was thinking, but only Katie Hopkins had the guts to say it. I cannot wait for her Tweets to start up again! 
As much as it pains me to say this, I would rather Perez Hilton have won than the one who did.
Now I expect a Katie Price book (ghostwritten, naturally) about her "emotional rollercoaster ride" in the Big Brother house, followed by tome ghostwritten by each of her amours, followed by a rebuttal book by Katie, countless magazine spreads--OK and its ilk would go out of business were it not for the likes of her and their endless spoutings about their self-inflicted amorous woes--followed by a documentary.
But at the end of the day, the REAL respect will always be afforded Katie H, Michelle, Calum et all.

Friday, 6 February 2015

Suicide In Jail

This man caused havoc to friends of mine a while ago when he went on the run and people were advised to stay inside and lock their doors.
In the UK, it costs an average 50% more to keep a killer behind bars than it does an OAP in a nursing home--and often the OAP has to sell their property, if they have one, to pay their fees whilst those on benefits get the same care free.
John Heald has done the world a favour. It saves the expense of a trial and keeping him for the rest of his life. A few others should follow his example.

Thursday, 5 February 2015

A Few Observations About Perez Hilton

Perez Hilton is the biggest horror story to hit the shores of Britain in decades. He is the worst possible example of an American, the worst possible representative of the gay community, and indeed the worst example of all that may be bad of the human race.
The man is a bully with a mouth the size of a barn-door, and like all bullies does not like getting a taste of his own medicine. Like all bullies, when exposed for the dung-beetle that he is, he blubbers and plays the victim--and succeeds only in making himself look an even bigger idiot than he is already. He spouts in his blog, and he genuinely believes that the world and it's mother loves him and supports his cause--when the exact opposite applies. He blasts into England thinking that he owns the place, he tries to make us laugh with a non-existent sense of humour reserved for cheap American chat shows where canned laughter rules, and he is too stupid to understand irony, sarcasm and satire of a country which has Great in its name.
On 'Celebrity Big Brother', Perez Hilton asked two young women to perform a lesbian act to gain viewers attention. He insulted someone to such an extent that they walked off the show. He has what equates to a twenty-wanks-a-day obsession with Katie Hopkins, who has more intelligence in her little finger nail than he has in his entire flabby frame. He uses his son  as a tool--'I swear on the life of my son'--to try and win arguments he has started. He humps the door and threatens to sodomise a young man and pulls a face when everyone challenges him about this--a fist in the chops would have settled it once and for all, but why sink to the level of this noisy concoction of teeth and whiskers? He equates being in the CBB house with the AIDS crisis, and accuses Michelle Visage--a dear lady with whom I share many acquaintances--as being extant of the LBGT community. What a turd.
Another example of this man's stupidity--and I hope my many American friends will understand this--is that he represents the typical gobshite tourist you invariably find at the ticket desk in the Gare du Nord, the one you can hear half a mile away who wants the hapless clerk to do everything for him, including wipe his arse. The 'my country is bigger than yours therefore I am better than you' grinning loon who is so stupid that he mistakes manure for pudding. Katie Hopkins says she will keep him awake by banging pans over his head--and the gormless twit interprets this as a death-threat. When it comes to brains, some of these Pepsodent grins were standing at the back of the line and appear to have their very own strain of Aspergers.
Okay, so Perez Hilton once reviewed one of my books, and he once gave a right regal hammering to one of my lunatics, but I still do not like him, and I think the message is quite clear not just for me but for the majority of the British viewing public if polls are anything to go by. When you get back to the other side of the Pond, Perez, please stay there!

Tuesday, 3 February 2015


I broke this story eleven years ago when I wrote Rock's biography, and much was said about in the press and on the radio at the time. So why bring this up now? Is Nancy about to join her loathsome, sneering husband? If so, they will not be sitting on the same cloud.

What happened is this. Nancy WAS on Rock's side. When he was desperately ill, dying almost, he received a call from Nancy who wanted to accompany Liz Taylor to the Castle, Rock's home. Arch-homophobe Ronnie, through his advisers, stopped her, declaring that such an 'unconventional meeting' would only offend the moral majority. Rock delivered a statement via his spokesman,Tom Clark, to journalists at the gate of his home:
'Reagan is yet to actually say the word AIDS in public. He and his people are so afraid of the Far Right, Fuck them all!'
So there you have it: Saint Nancy and Satan Reagan, currently residing one hopes--along with those tabloid journalists who penned some of the most poisonous headlines of the last century--in the Fiery Lake of Hades.

Nancy Reagan Turned Down Rock Hudson's Dying Plea For AIDS Treatment

Nancy Reagan Turned Down Rock Hudson's Dying Plea For AIDS Treatment
Nancy Reagan turned down a desperate plea for medical help from actor Rock Hudson as he was dying from AIDS, Buzzfeed has reported.
The then-deputy press secretary for the Reagan administration Mark Weinberg has said that he was contacted by Hudson’s publicist Dale Olson in July, 1985.

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After collapsing in Paris, the screen legend had been trying to access experimental drug treatment for AIDS being used in France, at the Percy Military Hospital.
A doctor there, Dominique Dormont, had secretly treated Hudson for the disease before his diagnosis had gone public, news that – along with the revelation that Hudson was gay – would shake Hollywood.
However, he had been turned down a transfer to the hospital as he was not French.
Olson sent a pleading telegram to the Reagans – Hudson had been friends with the President since his days as an actor – hoping they could help.
“Commanding general of Percy Hospital has turned down Rock Hudson as a patient because he is not French,” it read.
“Doctor Dormant in Paris believes a request from the White House or a high American official would change his mind.”
“I knew the Reagans knew Rock Hudson, obviously from their years in Hollywood, and for that reason I decided to call her,” said Weinberg.
However, the First Lady said they would not help Hudson.
“The view was, ‘Well, we’re so sorry’,” said Weinberg.

“And she was, they were both very sorry for Rock’s condition and felt for him and all the people. But it just wasn’t something that the White House felt that they could do something different for him than they would do for anybody else.
“She did not feel this was something the White House should get into and agreed to my suggestion that we refer the writer to the U.S. Embassy, Paris.”
Hudson died just nine weeks later.
Weinberg has insisted, however, that the decision was ‘nothing to do with AIDS or AIDS policy’ of the Reagan government, which was slated at the time for its inaction over fighting the disease, and had cut $10 million from its spending on the disease that same year.
“In fairness - and I’m not saying this to you, just to people - remember where the country was in the 80s,” Weinberg added.
“We talk about it now: ‘How could he?’ Nobody knew, nobody understood. It was all brand new back then.”
LGBT activist Peter Staley told Buzzfeed that the decision was ‘strange’.
“I’m sure if it had been Bob Hope in that hospital with some rare, incurable cancer, Air Force One would have been dispatched to help save him,” he said.

“There’s no getting around the fact that they left Rock Hudson out to dry. As soon as he had that frightening homosexual disease, he became as unwanted and ignored as the rest of us.”
After flying back to the US, Hudson died on October 2, 1985, little over a year after being diagnosed with HIV.

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Image credits: Rex Features

Monday, 2 February 2015

Will I Be Sad When Marlene Dietrich's Daughter Dies?

There are around half a dozen people in this world whose deaths would see me hanging up the bunting--literally--and rejoicing. Nasty, conniving people who have been nasty for nasty's sake, and not just towards me. And before I get bombarded with hate-mail, let me say that these half-dozen people would react in exactly the same way, should I curl up my toes. Indeed, should I die these people would be without an anchor because all they ever do is think, talk and write about me, and the sole purpose for their existence would have been removed.

While I would not actually wish Maria Riva to die as I quite openly do the others, I will not be sad. By writing her kiss-and-tell she set off by doing Marlene a great dis-service my exposing some rather unpleasant things about her. Okay, so I did the same thing with my father--the difference being that Marlene was a legend revered by millions, whereas George Spurr was an odious twat, loved by few. And the proof of the pudding was in the eating. Maria's book never really damaged her mother's reputation. Also, what must be remembered is that Maria was actually there, while we were not until those last few years. It cannot have been easy, walking in the shadow of Marlene Dietrich.

It is also untrue that Maria Riva tried to stop my book from being published. Her lawyer did ask for the tapes, pictures, envelopes and letters, and was politely told where to go. After that there were no more problems. My problem was always with my then publisher. Maria's lawyer called his office, where someone told him they were unaware of any taped conversations--when this person had actually sat down for fifteen hours and listened to them, even had copies of some of them, and had heard Marlene and I talking on Channel 4 news on 6 and 7 May 1992.

I digress. I had the same agreement with Marlene as I would later have with Elizabeth Taylor: they both wanted me to publish after they died. Mainstream were wonderful. They had the Taylor out in less than two weeks. Robson Books hedged, swore to support me, and then took a back seat while I sorted out the mess which would not have been there in the first place, had Jeremy Robson had the balls to tell Maria's lawyer that he had heard the tapes. I was even charged a lot of money to change the cover. Therefore the book came out in 1993, one year after Marlene's death, though it did corner the market.

The book, however, was not as it should have been. The publisher left out around 20% of my conversations with Marlene, fearful he said of being sued by the families of John Kobal, John Wayne and a number of others for what Marlene had said about them. He knew of course that in the UK, one cannot libel the dead.

On saying this, I am not dissing my former publisher--who is only my former publisher, my choice, because of what I believe to have been a bad career move. I do not like Iain Dale, and he does not like me. Let's leave it there. Jeremy Robson published 23 of my books, and they all did well--at least ten of them reached the six-figure sales mark, and few have ever been out of print. We had a good working relationship, never argued once, and I still hold him in high esteem.

Now, the time has come to return the Elgin Marbles to the Parthenon, so to speak--to put the missing conversations back into the book. Nothing has changed about Maria and the other Rivas. What was said about them by Marlene was in the original book, none of it bad. There is no doubting that Maria was the member of her family that Marlene loved the most. Marlene told me that she loved Maria and only lived for her. She did not however care for some of her other relatives, and even compared one of them with my father--I argued with her over this one, because no man on earth could have been as bad as my father!

Neither am I re-releasing the book as some sort of revenge act against Maria, or deliberately timing things this way. I began working on it again two years ago, and have bumped it forwards considerably at the end of last year due to a gap in my schedule. Marlene was extremely opinionated. This is why we became such firm friends, because I stick my head above the parapet, opine as much as like, and don't give a damn what people say and write about me. We also shared the same biting, sarcastic and satirical sense of humour. Indeed, though she would not make an appearance for another twenty years, the first Nancy Sphinctergritzel was developed while I knew Marlene. The woman I later based the Valentino fanatic on--and who caused a scandal by having a sexual relationship with her own brother--died then, and how ironic was it that Marlene herself would die on Valentino's birthday, while her image was promoting that year's Cannes Film Festival?