Saturday, 4 November 2017

Please Mr Policeman, He Touched Me Twenty Years Ago!

These "He touched my thigh/He raped me/He flashed his cock at me/He threatened me" stories are getting to be so ridiculous and frequent that I'm actually starting to feel sorry for some of the alleged perpetrators. Most of these accused are indeed creepy actors, producers and politicians that I can't stand and who always looked "iffy" to me (Bruno Langley being an exception). What I cannot understand is all the sackings and stepping-downs based on what so far appears to be people jumping on the bandwagon. There have been no arrests, nothing has been brought before a judge and yet, as my late father-in-law used to fondly say, so much shit has been mistaken for plum pudding. And what will happen if these cases do go to court, as happened with William Roach (and almost with me a few years ago, though not for anything remotely like this) and others, and these people are found to have made it all up? Reputations and careers will have been ruined for nothing. Of course, if the stories are proved to be true, then I shall have no remorse for the perpetrators. Until then, it should be innocent until proved guilty and they should put up a brave fight if they truly have done nothing wrong, or if the women/men in question were willing at the time to hop on to the casting-couch to further their careers. It has to be said that I have never heard of most of them, and that some of the others have floundered somewhat from the dizzy heights of stardom.

Finally, as for any court case happening with "the anonymous young British actor" (and again I speak from experience), and who almost certainly will have been named by the tabloids by this time next week, and possibly revealed to be two shades left of Liberace, there'll be no such thing unless the courts here acquire an International Arrest Warrant... which they only grant if you're a master criminal.

Sunday, 3 September 2017

So Sad When A Vile Person Dies

I've lost a few friends and acquaintances this past few weeks. Dear Charley Marouani, Barbara's manager and the man who opened so many doors for me...when Charley died, part of me died with him. Jeanne Moreau. Mireille Darc. And poor Ludovic Chancel, who was not blessed with the nicest of mothers.

I cry when those whom I care about die. Occasionally, though, there is the demise that makes by heart beat wildly with joy, when I am able to shout out, 'Thank God for that!' Today was one of those occasions. An occasion when Mrs. B and Master B shouted 'Thank God for that!' in unison.

I will not mention the name of this hideously vituperative female who has curled her toes in foreign climes, save that she was older than us, and that Cocteau may hold the clue, though bonne she certainly was not. This creature created a furore a few years ago by writing that, not only was I languishing in jail, but that Mrs. B was in fact my mother, and that our son was autistic because he was the product of an incestuous relationship. Therefore am I glad that she is dead? You bet I am!

Only yesterday I was checking through Death List 2017. This is a list of fifty personages predicted to cash in their chips this year. Many of them are very old, therefore it's inevitable that the Grim Reaper is prowling around their boudoir. Some are not. As of yesterday, ten of the fifty have departed this life.

Two years ago, my Death Wish List amounted to just seven names, As of today, only three remain. Karma has been very kind to me of late. Let's hope that she keeps up her good work...

Monday, 17 July 2017

RIP Ludovic Chancel, Maligned By His Pop Star Mother

Ludovic Chancel took his own life two weeks ago. He was just forty-two, and leaves behind a wife and two young children.

He was the son of the French pop songstress Sheila, of whom Marlene Dietrich observed, "She wiggles her backside and sucks on the microphone, and tells everyone she's famous. What she doesn't say is that she doesn't have any talent!"

I might disagree with my friend there. Sheila did have talent, but as a mother she left a great deal to be desired, and she made Ludo's life a living hell. When she found out that he was bisexual, she disowned him and he went through a very bad patch indeed. Only last year she was saying that she would never wish to have anything to do with him again.

Like myself, Ludo fought back. He and I had much in common, almost parallel lives. We knew each other. He detailed his struggles with a bad parent in his book, Fils de... I chose a stronger title: Old Bastard. I was lucky in that my old man curled his toes, not that there is anything in there that I wouldn't have said to his face, and indeed him and his horrendous second wife.

There's a lot more that I could say about Ludo here, and a lot more I could say about Sheila. She's getting all the sympathy, whereas Ludo's wife and children appear to have been overlooked. My son was a fan, but his Sheila records have now gone in the bin. I would define Sheila, and in no way is this litigious, as the second most repulsive female who has entered my world. Karma, though, has a nasty habit of biting you on the bum. Ludo never mentioned his mother while in our company, and though Sheila claims that they made up and put their differences behind them some time ago, others firmly believe...and have stated openly in the press...that there was no contact between them for seven years.

Now, I hope that this dear chap, wherever he is, has found the peace he never managed to find in this life.

RIP, Ludo.

Friday, 7 July 2017

Casey Donovan: Pioneering Gay Porn Legend: Edinburgh Festival 1979

In 1979 we attended the Edinburgh Festival with our friends Marian Montgomery and Richard Rodney Bennett. Sitting at the dinner table, one of thirty people, was this very handsome American man who looked like he had stepped straight out of a fashion catalogue. Marian introduced us, not just to him but to around a dozen others. I never thought about until some years later when I was made aware that the pretty blond was Casey Donovan, in Edinburgh as part of a group to promote the prize-winning film, "Gal Young Un". So we met gay porn's pioneering legend without even knowing who he was! Later on we met Ryan Idol, Karen Dior, and of course Joey Stefano and a few others. All of them absolute legends.

Casey's story is now published:

“I think my greatest accomplishment so far is something that doesn't show up in lights or get reviewed - and that's simply the sexual sanity that I have tried to contribute to over the last twenty years.”
   This was Casey Donovan, speaking in 1983, four years before his untimely death.
   Born John Calvin Culver, he was a pioneer and will eternally remain amongst the elite of the adult film industry. Yet he was more than just a porn star. As a hustler par excellence his clients included movie stars, senators, European royalty, and ordinary fans. The love of his life was the tough-guy actor Tom Tryon, who treated him badly. His other famous lovers included Rock Hudson, Paul Newman, and Superman actor Christopher Reeve.
   Casey scored successes on the legitimate stage—Tubstrip toured for two years and packed theatres across North America. He acted opposite Ingrid Bergman, and played Jesus Christ in an avant-garde production of Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. As a “tour guide” he escorted well-heeled clients to exotic locations. As an “agony uncle”, he eloquently responded to fans’ letters for four years in Stallion magazine. It is for his contribution to the cinema, however, that he was revered. He shot to fame in Boys in the Sand in 1971, the very first gay porno feature film as opposed to the tawdry “loops” of the day. He triumphed in Radley Metzger’s Score, made heterosexual porn films, and remained at the top of his profession for fifteen years, a long time in the world of adult film.
   Away from the screen, Casey was the unassuming boy-next-door. On film nothing was too exhibitionist or outrageous for him to tackle. Published to commemorate the thirtieth anniversary of his death, this is his amazing story. It includes full details of his twenty-seven films and ten theatrical runs, and more than fifty photographs.

Saturday, 17 June 2017

Is Owen Jones An Enemy Of The State?

Without Prejudice
Personally, I think that he is. This man's behaviour since the general election, and particularly in the wake of the Grenfell Tower tragedy, has been nothing short of reprehensible.

We don't yet know how many people perished in that fire. We don't know exactly how it started, or who is responsible. This is why they are holding a public enquiry, while the tabloids speculate about exploding fridges and illegal cladding.

Owen Jones blames the tragedy on the government...not the one who was in power when the flats were built, but the one who is in power now. He has launched a campaign to oust our elected Prime Minister, Theresa May. As Alex Deane said just now on the news, the "Owen Jones" of this world are in so many words accusing Mrs. May of arson.

Owen Jones is a revolutionary. He has always been possessed of two non-qualities: an over-sized ego, and a head the size of a gasometer. And with a mouth to match. He is a Labour supporter, therefore to his blinkered way of thinking, anything the Conservatives do is tantamount to heinous crime.

He has been organising rallies and protests left, right and centre. Yesterday there was one outside a church, for goodness' sake. Today, he has reached the zenith of puerility. After gurning while clutching a "clean up" feather duster, he has advertised a protest he has organised to take place in Downing Street. "Bring your families and friends," he pleaded. So yes, the reward for dozens of people dying in a fire...the recompense for THEIR families and friends, is Owen Jones' Family Outing. I'm surprised this odious little man didn't set up a stall selling popcorn.

But his protest did not end there. Adding to the unwanted mayhem, and I don't doubt to the grief of those families who were invited to Number 10 today, was a pathetic sideshow within which a hideous drag-queen was "singing" seditious songs about Theresa May to a whooping, I should say inebriated crowd. What a pity that this loathsome creature did not topple of its high-heels and break its neck.

I confess that Mrs. May took her time speaking to relatives of those lost in the tragedy, but this does not mean that she was not thinking about them, that her heart is in the right place and that she was working behind the scenes to help them. She has only just one week ago emerged from a general election. She had just returned from official duties in France, and was putting together a cabinet. Owen Jones' mouth may be all over the place right now, but Mrs. May can only do one thing at a time.

I don't doubt that Mr. Jones will keep up his vile campaigning, just as I do not doubt that this will lead to a great deal of civil unrest in the coming weeks on account of this modern-day Jack Cade with a mouth and ego the size of Wales, and few grey cells governing. I am certain that any day now we will be turning on the news to see our hard-stretched police forces out in droves, clutching shields and wielding batons while being attacked by yobs who are daft enough to listen to this mouthy clown.

Let's hope then that someone arrests him before then.

Thursday, 11 May 2017

The Sun "Newspaper" and "Benidorm": Reaching A New Level of Stupidity

The Sun newspaper, aka The Katie Price & McCann Hourly News, has plunged to the nether depths of stupidity once more.

On Benidorm, that wonderful character Joyce Temple Savage, played by the equally wonderful Sherrie Hewson, observed of a high-pitched, not very handsome karaoke singer that he had "the voice of a thirteen-year-old girl and a face like a dropped pie." We all roared with laughter at the series' funniest episode yet.

Now, the Sun~famed for digging the dirt on recently-deceased celebrities, and hounding the likes of Justin Fashanu to suicide but for writing persistent bullshit about missing children's grieving families, talentless women with big tits who have had more men than Mary Millington, and druggie soap-stars who really do have faces like dropped pies~is accusing Benidorm of mocking disabled people. "They are mocking people with cleft palates," barks Paul Revoir.

Mr. Revoir~might I suggest it should be au-revoir~clearly belongs to that school of "journalists" who would be incapable of writing their initials in the snow. Sherrie Hewson was doing no such thing, you silly gawp! Neither she nor the millions of viewers would have noticed "the cleft palate" if you hadn't pointed it out~ and don't you think the actor doing the crooning would have been shown the script?

So, why don't you stick to writing about what you know? Which happens to be not much...

Sunday, 7 May 2017

UK Tabloid Obsessions: Writing Rubbish About Trashy Celebs While Ignoring Real Stories About Real Criminals

The Mail, The Sun, The Mirror and The Daily Star are all guilty of obsession with people that they label stars, whether these be criminals, drug addicts, faded soap stars, or reality trash.

There is the former glamour model (I use the term lightly) who will doubtless die, aged 47, when her implants explode, and whose six husbands and coterie of lovers will squabble over which of them will be her pallbearers.

There is the junkie soap star whose face looks like it's been run over by a bus, and who has been in and out of rehab more times than Jock Strap had his willy inside Mary Millington.

There is the never-ending saga of the missing child, which will go on until Stephen Hawkins' end-of-humanity prediction occurs. From where I'm sitting, at least two journalists are employed full-time scribbling about this.

There is the "romance" between the tattooed Irishman and his lush, both of them so thick that they wear C & A undies so they know which way to put them on.

There is the footballer who has been in more clinics than Doctor Spock, and who will end his days face-down in a pool of vomit after one tipple too many.

There is the hideously ugly American sportsperson who does not know if they are male or female, or something in between, and who has spawned the latest accessory: transgenderism. So daft that kids of five want to have a go

On and on it goes...

Now, we have a "Let's pick on Rolf Harris" day, which of course will go on for weeks until he dies, whence we will get a wealth of "Rot In Hell" headlines.

In the UK, we have laws. Nobody serves a full prison term unless they are murdering maniacs. Mr. Harris is about to be released, having served his term and behaved himself, to look after his dying wife. The tabloids are baying for his blood. They want him and two very nice footballers who happened to use their cocks instead of their brains (but on whose side I will always be) to be dragged to some modern-day Tyburn and strung up.

Whatever Mr. Harris did was years ago. I am hard put to remember some of the things that happened to me in 1975, but these "victims" of course can remember every little detail. Why they wait such a long time to jump onto the bandwagon is another matter. I would suggest it's not justice they want, but money.

It's okay for the British tabloids to victimise old men who are in no position to fight back, and to write thoroughly pointless "exclusives" on any of the above which appear at an hourly rate on their on-line pages...but what about all the REAL stories that they are covering up? Why don't they have the guts to employ journalists to write stories that might have some impact on our society--such as reporting criminals, paedophiles and the like, that they are well aware of, and that they have known about for some time? Criminals that are active, ere we speak. They knew all about Jimmy Savile. And who in their right mind is going to believe that silly story of how Rolf Harris shoved his hand inside a television presenter's knickers, on live television and while an entire crew was standing around?

Why don't our tabloids NAME the felons who are known to them, and who are doing damage to our children and young people NOW instead of decades ago? Why do they wait until they are dead to hold an enquiry?

There's a simple answer to this. They don't have the guts.

Wednesday, 19 April 2017

Joey Stefano: My Doubts About The Biopic

Let me begin by saying that I am NOT against the Joey Stefano biopic, the brainchild of Chad Darnell, said to be "in pre-preduction". As Joey's biographer, however, I feel qualified and entitled to have my say.

First of all, like the biopics of Montgomery Clift, Ramon Novarro and Diana Dors, that have also been "on the stocks" for years, I cannot see Joey Stefano: The Movie ever seeing the light of day. The scripts for Monty, Ramon and Diana all contain wall-to-wall men and sex, and this was NOT what they were about. Likewise the proposed project about Joey, which is not based on any book in particular, but on interviews with some of his "friends".

There is a misconception that, because Joey was a gay porn star, that his life comprised a 26-year-long saga of sex, drugs, and seediness. It did not. Regarding the drugs, he was no better/no worse than many of the rock and movie stars of his generation. Regarding the sex, he was promiscuous on the screen because this was his job. Away from the screen he had many less lovers than most of his so-called legitimate film contemporaries. I would even say that in my time, even I had more than him. Away from the screen he was a decent man, and not some mincing queen. There are even those today who claim that he was not even gay, but straight and gay-for-pay. I wouldn't go that far, but having met him I can avow that he was an extremely manly man, very much in the stamp of Rock Hudson. At the time of his death, he was engaged to be married to a woman he had known for years.

We will always be grateful to Chi Chi LaRue for launching Joey's career, to Madonna for making his name just that little bit more international, and to the likes of Karen Dior (Geoff Gann). I spent some time with her in Chicago, and she told me some wonderful anecdotes about Joey during which we laughed and cried. These people have my utmost respect.

What worries me are anecdotes from the likes of Doug Smith, a hustler friend of Joey's of whom I will say, "With friends like him, who needs enemies?" Smith would not be able to lie straight in bed. To be honest, I thought he would have self-destructed by now. He told the story of how Joey called him one day, and during the course of their chat just happened to mention that he was HIV positive." I never believed this for one minute. The story continued that Joey wrote out a list of "grievances" and gave this to his last lover, Alberto Shayo. One of the items listed was "HIV Positive!", with an exclamation mark. Here's what I wrote about this:
As previously stated, there is considerable doubt relating to Joey’s supposed casual admission over the phone to Doug Smith back in 1990 that he had been HIV positive—and the fact that he appears to have told no one else. Such secrets, shared with gossipy individuals, rarely remain secrets for long. But had Joey been tested recently? And if so, and if he had tested positive for real this time, would Alberto Shayo have reacted to such an admission from his lover with apparent indifference, having slept with him? One very much doubts this.
   “Joey bottomed most of the time in his work because this was what had been expected of him,” Karen Dior said. “Away from the camera, he was versatile. He liked to be the one on top because he hardly ever did this on film.”
   In other words, had Joey been HIV-positive, any partner might have been put at risk having sex with him, but more so the passive partner. Yet Alberto Shayo is not on record as having panicked about Joey’s admission, therefore one may assume that he never took this item on his list seriously, and neither should we.

It's probably against protocol, I know, but I contacted the hospital where Joey died (he did NOT die in a motel room) and, after some wrangling, managed to get out of them the contents of his death certificate. He was NOT HIV positive.

There are other stories told about Joey, mostly by Smith, which I accuse them of making up:

One anecdote recounts that Joey was slumped on the staircase of a four-star hotel, with a needle in his arm, and that blood was streaming down this and on to the stairs...moreover that guests were walking past him, oblivious to this. Really?

Another states that Joey was slumped on the pavement outside a New York bar, and that he had called a "lover" in New Jersey to say that he taken an overdose and was dying. According to the lover, he drove to New York and found him still on the pavement, three hours later. Absolute bullshit! If the story was true, didn't any of the hundreds of people who walked by notice anything? Then I checked up on the story. On that very day, Joey was IN New Jersey, shooting a film, and he was hale and hearty.

Then there is the unpleasant anecdote related by someone who is said to have been interviewed for the Joey biopic. The fact that a report came in to the Advocate that Joey had committed suicide by slashing his wrists at the Days Inn, on 1 January 1994, his birthday. I called the Days In, and was told that Doug Smith had called them to say that Joey had called him, to announce his death...that the receptionist had called an ambulance, only to find Joey sitting alone in his room, feeling despondent because he hated his birthday, which was also the birthday of his father who had sexually abused him as a child. One week after this supposed event, Joey shot About This Night, insisting that the cameraman zoom in on his wrists to prove that Smith had made up the story in a drugs-induced haze. There are no scars.

The worst treatment of Joey by these so-called friends occurred during the last days of his short life. He was staying at the La Brea Motel, and according to one story was discovered TWICE by these people, unconscious and with needles sticking out of his arm. And what did they do...summon help? No, they left him there knowing that he might die, according to one story. If this is true, then in my opinion they should have been questioned by the police and held accountable for their actions. Save that the story of the first "drugs overdose" is NOT true, for when Joey was supposed to be slumped in the shower after taking an overdose, he was actually on the phone to a mutual friend of ours, said to be quite chirpy. Sadly, the second part of their story IS true, and the fact that they all went off shopping...that the man who sold him the drugs, apparently well-known to them, absconded and got away with it. Had they got Joey to the hospital, he would have been saved...not that he mightn't have done the same again at a later date, with the same end result, had he not received the treatment he obviously needed. We shall sadly never know.

Is this then the scenario that is to be transferred to the big screen, one which will relay the message to the world that Joey Stefano was not a nice young man, extant of the raunchy sex-machine we see in his films...but a dirty, perverted, neurotic, hopeless, drug-addicted loser?

If so, let us hope that this project will be assigned to oblivion. If not, then I wish Mr. Darnell all the luck in the world and when it appears will swallow the biggest chunk of humble-pie known to man.

Also we are yet to learn, after NINE years, who is going to be playing Joey Stefano. All that we know so far is that for one of the parts, an "actor" has been hired who goes by the name of Alaska Thunderfuck. Imagine that on the billboards!

Heaven Have Mercy!

Saturday, 15 April 2017

Dorothy Squires Orchestra Leader Was NOT An Alcoholic, Johnny Tudor!

Dorothy Squires & Nicky Welsh

The first thing that struck me about this book and made me question whether it would be really worth taking seriously was the youtube video used to promote it. It tells us that Dorothy Squires was a great entertainer, and we do hear her voice. But the person we see on the screen is...Edith Piaf, in clips lifted from the film, La Vie En Rose!

"Well, I'll be beggared," as Dot would say. "Have you been at the gin again, boyo?"

I never criticise another another's work, but in this instance I feel that I must make an exception. I cannot ever recall meeting Johnny Tudor, during my twenty-five years of being one of Dot Squires' closest friends and confidants. I do recall her once referring to him as "a pantomime entertainer" virtually unknown outside of Wales. Then again, Dot could be quite cutting at the best of times.

There comes a time, however, when one feels the need to defend dear friends who are no longer with us, and I object most strongly to Johnny writing that Dot's orchestra leader, Nicky Welsh, was an alcoholic...and adds an anecdote from town-bicycle singer Lita Rosa that her pianist, Kenny Brown, was possibly a drug-addict. I knew Nicky well. We had some great times over the years. He liked his drink, as did we, but I never once saw him drunk. Maybe Johnny Tudor takes exception to the fact that he and Johnnie Grey, Dot's saxophonist, disliked him intensely? My own book has a quote from Johnnie Grey,

It always baffled me why Dot had other people on the bill with her. At every show I played at, nobody was remotely interested in these mostly third-rate so-called entertainers and comedians. All they wanted was Dot, Dot, Dot!” Johnnie Gray, saxophonist.

I also take great exception to two other aspects of Johnny Tudor's book: the fact that it is promoted as "the first biography of Dorothy Squires" when my book was published at the end of last year...and the fact that it contains several pictures which appear in my own book. The latter is irreverent, bearing in mind there are few pictures of Dot of a printable quality.

As for the insults against my friends, I find this reprehensible, even though I wish Johnny Tudor every success with his work. Dorothy Squires' name needs to reach out to a wider audience and be kept alive...even by someone who tells lies.

Monday, 10 April 2017

Keith Palmer And Jo Cox: Are We Going Too Far?

It's nice to see Britain paying tribute to murdered Westminster policeman Keith Palmer. But, aren't we going a little over-the-top with our emotions? Coming on the heels of calls for the man who tried to save Jo Cox to be awarded the Victoria Cross, I rather think we are. Additionally, fans of Ms Cox are saying that they want to hold thousands of street parties this summer to mark the anniversary of her death. What makes this even more ridiculous is that MPs have to fight to get ONE street party in London to honour the Queen's 65 years on the throne. Does this mean, then, that a Syria-loving politician is considered more important than a monarch? 

Cast your minds back to PC Yvonne Fletcher, and Sharon Bokowsky, who lived in my neck of the woods. These ladies were horribly murdered, but they were not given the privilege of lying in state in an environment previously awarded only to a British prime minister. Neither are other policemen and women who have died in the line of duty, not to mention the hundreds of British servicemen and women. They deserve to be honoured, certainly, but with some kind of memorial, not with all the pomp and circumstance afforded royalty and major political figures.

Saturday, 8 April 2017


Currently there are TWO biographies of Dorothy Squires on the market: the one by me (above) published at the end of last year, and the one by another of Dot's close friends, Johnny Tudor, published by The History Press this month.

I am condemning The History Press for promoting their book as "the first ever biography of Dorothy Squires". It is not. My book pre-empted theirs by four months. Also I am curious as why they have used some of the pictures that I used, though to be fair I have to say there aren't that many good pictures around. I am NOT, however, criticising Johnny or his work. Dot's fans have been starved for so long. They need to have BOTH books!

Let me say again that I applaud Johnny for his work. No one has ever had a book published about Dorothy because, though she was revered by her fans, she was hated by what she called "The Establishment"~the press, and radio and television producers with whom she had a very fiery relationship, one which resulted in her being declared a vexatious litigant after 33 court cases, often for trifling matters. This did not however affect her abilities as a singer, quite possibly the finest British female singer who ever lived. Therefore two biographies, lovingly told, ARE better than none. I have not read Johnny's book yet, but I know that it will be excellent because he cared about her very much, and she him.

Dot sent me a copy of the script for her autobiography, Rain Rain Go Away because she wanted me to be her ghost-writer. I was willing to do this, but not one publisher in Britain wanted anything to do with her. Some of their comments were cruel. One ended their rejection letter with the words:

"...but I regret to say that I suspect that her fame is now as dead as she is."

Therefore, when I wrote my book, rather than breaching copyright and copying Dot's words verbatim, I stuck within the law and paraphrased. Dot's own words in the book come from our meetings and phone-calls, when I made extensive notes. This is what may make it different from any other, though as I say two heads are better than one.

What makes me happy is that two people close to Dot have written nice things about her...and this makes up for all the nasty things people said about her when she was alive. If only The History Press would get their facts right!


Monday, 3 April 2017

Peter Sutcliffe: Tabloids, Get Your Stories Straight From One Who Knows


Yorkshire Ripper Peter Sutcliffe quizzed in jail over 17 unsolved cases that ‘bear chilling similarities to his vicious hammer attacks’

Ripper's reign of terror saw him wield hammers, screwdrivers and knives during the 1970s and cops plan to grill him about more potential victims

Updated: 3rd April 2017, 

In a macabre sort of way, it makes a change to see Pete hogging the headlines of The opposed to their daily and indeed hourly tedious stories about Katie Price, the McCanns, Daniella Westbrook, that bloke with all the tattoos and his off-on relationship with a woman of the ilk my mother urged me to stear clear of, along with 'exclusives' about various reality stars possessed of the talent and charisma of an otter's fart.

None of these Ripper stories are true, of course, and every one of them and more ~ including the attack on my own wife ~ are detailed in my book, which will be published two weeks after Pete dies. Besides giving statements to the police and having our names added to the hundreds of witnesses, I was given access to Pete's statements, and the court records.

I socialised with Pete when I was a teenager, and he was very fond and protective of my mother against her philandering, abusive husband. That story has been told in "Old Bastard".

We had no idea, back then, how things would turn out with Pete, and many's the time I have asked myself if we or any of his other friends might have been able to stop the future from happening. Certainly, if he had killed my father, which is what he wanted to do to save my mother from further suffering, he would not have been at liberty to kill all those women.

I've also asked myself, time and time again, if any of us saw any evil in him back then, and time and time again I come to the conclusion that we did not, though it must have been there. When we knew Pete he seemed a rational, normal man. He liked to have a laugh, and he liked to go out for a pint. There was nothing back then to suggest that in seven years time he would turn into a monster.

The irony is, we never found out that the Peter Sutcliffe who killed all those woman, and the Pete Coonan that I knew were one and the same until we saw his picture in the press...on 6 January 1981, my wife's birthday. We did know a few days before this that the man suspected of attacking her had been arrested. Imagine the shock!

My first reaction was one of intense shock, or realising how incredibly lucky Jeanne had been. I was asked how I felt, and responded that, if at all possible, I would personally wrap the noose around his neck. That opinion has not changed. Some years ago, I received a request to visit him in prison. Naturally, I refused.

So, Sun journalists, in future stick to your McCann and Katie Price theories, and leave Peter Sutcliffe to those who know what they are talking about.

Saturday, 25 March 2017

"Give Dotty A Chance: An Insult To The Memory Of Dorothy Squires

I am appalled after listening to the unadulterated piece of shite that was Martyn Hesford's "Give Dotty A Chance", purporting to be a story about my great friend, Dorothy Squires. I can honestly say, hand on heart, that every one of Dot's friends who suffered listening to this fictitious crap agrees with me. Some years ago Johnny Tudor, one of Dot's friends, paid tribute to her by writing a play~a good play~ which starred Welsh actress Ruth Madoc.

Madoc also plays Dot in this one, broadcast yesterday on BBC Radio 4~not the Dot we knew well and loved, but a monster, a joke. The entire production was a catalogue of lies and a cruel piss-take from start to finish. The BBC even have the audacity to use one of MY pictures to promote this bile:

In 1979, Dot was NOT penniless and living in a caravan, in a back field in Surrey, and suffering the indignity of a chemical toilet. She was living three miles down the road from me.

Dot was NOT a drunk, and popping pills.

Two gay fans did NOT pester her into making a comeback, and Dot would never have treated any fans the way this demented caricature does. After portraying Dot so well in the Johnny Tudor play, Ruth Madoc should feel ashamed of herself for doing this. I guess you might say that with her own glory days behind her, she probably needs all the work she can get.

The playwright needs to get his facts right. Any genuine Squires fan will know that Dot's comeback concert, generally regarded as the greatest in her glittering career, took place at the London Palladium in December 1970...NOT 1979. Neither was her final concert in Brighton in 1991. It was 1990. Get your facts right, you bloody knucklehead!

What do police raiding gay nightclubs have to do with Dot? She was NEVER approached to participate in gay pride with this being her ONLY means of ever affecting a comeback. She adored her gay fans and would never have used them for gain. Between 1936 and 1990, she was never away from the spotlight. Neither would Dot have spoken about her gay fans in such a disparaging manner.

And why not use Dot's voice all the way through the programme, instead of someone who sounds like an inebriated, fourth-rate Hermione Gingold?

NONE of Dot's friends EVER heard her saying bad things about Roger Moore. She always spoke about him with great respect, and he supported her right until the very end.

Regarding the title: so far as we know, only Rod McKuen ever called her Dotty. She hated it!

Dot's shows ALWAYS sold out in record time. There was NEVER an instance when a promoter reported that only four tickets had sold for a concert.

Regarding the interview, Dot NEVER called anyone "darling", and hated anyone else using the word. Yes, she confessed to me that she disliked Lulu, but she would have never denounced her so nastily and publicly in an interview. Neither did she boast about herself in radio interviews in the way that this pathetic caricature does. NO interviewer would have got away with treating her with the disrespect that this woman does. NO radio station would have allowed such rudeness.

The scene where Dot gets drunk and has a punch-up displays the playwright's crass ignorance, despicable cruelty, and an ability to lie more profoundly than he has until now. in this dreadful play. Thankfully, Dorothy Squires the star will remain in our memories, loved and respected, long after this buffoon has been forgotten.

In short, the ENTIRE production is puerile and disgusting. It can be aptly described in just one word...VOMIT.

Sunday, 19 March 2017

Dorothy Squires: First Ever Biography Of This Great Lady

Dorothy Squires: An Intimate Portrait By Her Friend & Confidant

During her heyday, Dorothy Squires was Britain's most popular female singer, and one of the wealthiest. Fate was rarely on her side, and though frequently a fool to herself with her many frivolous lawsuits, and with her obsession for one man, Roger Moore, which nevertheless gave way to some of her greatest songs, she remained hugely popular until her death in 1998.

I was her friend and confidant for many years and one of the few she stayed in touch with until the very end. For my book I have  used extensive notes made when talking and meeting Dot, as she was lovingly known, to create a biography which is told mostly in her own words. Dot also approached me to ghost-write her autobiography, and sent me a script that she had written and submitted to a publisher. I haven't used any of this verbatim to break any copyright laws, but I have paraphrased it. I hasten to add that it is not the same script which Dot submitted as Rain, Rain, Go Away.

Here's an extract:

   After the show, we decided that I wanted to meet Dot. We got backstage and a small bespectacled woman, her secretary Doris Gaard, asked us to stand outside the door at the end of the corridor. I was walking towards this when a strong hand grabbed my collar—one of the security men.  
   “What do you think you’re playing at?” he growled.  
   Then all of a sudden this booming voice, “Hey, you! Get your fucking hands off him!”
   This came from the tiny figure who had just emerged from the door—Dot, who had eschewed the Darnell gown for a brown skirt and cream blouse.
   Over a bottle of wine, we hit it off at once. Dot arranged for us to have tickets for her show the following week, and for seventeen years we were part of her entourage. I sold albums in the foyer, Jeanne took pictures backstage for Dot’s “family album”. When I finished The Piaf Legend, she read the script before it went off to the publishers. I wrote her a song, “I Sing My Life”, with the French singer, GĂ©rard Berliner:

   I wear my life upon my sleeve,
   Because I know just what it’s like to take the blows,
   I face each storm, and I pull through
   Each hopeless mess of broken dreams, and I survive…

At Dot’s concerts we met dozens of celebrities and politicians along with so-called socialites she had little time for. There were nice people, such as the ailing pianist Russ Conway, who had a different young man with him each time—two A-lister footballers who turned up with male lovers, introduced as their “personal assistants—until they had downed a few drinks, when the truth came tumbling out. There was Marion Montgomery, who along with her then performance partner, Richard Rodney Bennett, also became friends. Nicky Welsh, Dot’s orchestra leader, was an absolute scream, especially after a tipple, as was Johnnie Gray, a man with a huge handlebar moustache which would have put Jimmy Edwards to shame. Then there were others who were not so nice: a soon to be well-known, over-the-top bitchy camp television presenter springs to mind, a couple of spitting-cat camp pianists, and a crooner who had seen better days but still considered himself the next best thing to Frank Sinatra. There were other celebrity Squires fanatics who, whilst raving about her, disliked one another intensely and often hissed and clawed at each other like angry snakes, backstage.
   I only saw Dot lose her cool once—and I mean really lose it to the point of almost passing out with rage. This was in Birmingham, when she was made aware of the comment in Cosmopolitan—in the wake of a sustained campaign of taunts by Private Eye, which described Marianne Faithfull as, “Britain’s most famous wreck since Dorothy Squires.” Dot even broke up the editor’s name to get a “fuck” between the syllables, and sued for libel. The judge, Patrick O’Connor, awarded her £8,000 in damages. Ironically, the pub that we all headed for that night after the show, the Mulberry Bush, was one of the two involved later that year in the Birmingham bombings which killed twenty-one people. It was O’Connor who presided over the appeals in 1988 of the so-called “Birmingham Six”.
   With Dot, life could be frantic and frustrating, but it was never dull. In her final years, she became a victim of her own insecurity and always believed that the world and its mother were out to get her. She penned her memoirs under the title, Rain, Rain, Go Away! These were so litigious that once they had been ditched by the original publisher on account of the multitude of threatened lawsuits, not least of all from Roger Moore, no publisher would touch them—whilst Dot refused to compromise and change a single word. She sent me part of the script when there was talk of me becoming her ghost-writer—a sizeable portion of this is legally paraphrased here and thus does not infringe copyright, whilst some of the chapter headings may not be repeated for legal reasons, and sometimes because their wording was illegal! Dot told me much more, however, than was printed in the press at the time, well aware that I would tell her story, one day. This is that story….

Friday, 17 March 2017

David Bret versus Chantry Vets Wakefield: Bozzy's Death: This Case Is Far From Over

Without Prejudice

This is a picture of Bozzy, one hour before he died after being prescribed Tramadol by Birgit Nordmann of Chantry Vets. The day before he had been playing with Ricardo and creating merry hell. When this picture was taken he was near-comatose, vomiting and urinating blood. Chantry Vets have denied all responsibility.

I hereby accuse, legally and without threat, the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons of siding with habitual liars, vets Birgit Nordmann, Lisa Flood and Jordi Serrano. If these people wish to take me court, I would welcome this. We would therefore see how well these grossly unprofessional people lie under oath.

Each time this trio has submitted a statement to the RCVS, they have changed their story. Yet the RCVS has swallowed every last lie.

The fact that the RCVS took this matter to TWO levels of enquiry suggests (the CEG and the PIC) that they had their suspicions or doubts about the way Chantry Vets treated Bozzy. Otherwise the case would have dismissed long before it was. I quote from their manifesto:

If the CEG conclude that there is an arguable case of serious professional misconduct by the veterinary surgeon, they will refer the complaint to the PI Committee, who must decide whether there is a realistic prospect of proving 'disgraceful conduct in a professional respect', also referred to as 'serious professional misconduct'.

In my opinion, there HAS been disgraceful conduct, and this has been extended to the RCVS in the way that they have reprehensibly sided with these people.

In their missive of 6 March 2017, the RCVS stated that my complaint against Nordmann reached the CEG stage of the process, while that against Flood reached the PIC stage. This is serious enough for me to wish to take this matter further.

1: Nordmann, Flood and Serrano are obsessed with stating that I quibbled over the fees. They are lying. We have used Chantry Vets for over twelve years and NEVER contested the fees. Indeed, why would be keep using them if we disliked the fees?

2: Regardless of whether I signed a consent form or not, when I took Bozzy to Chantry Vets I trusted that they would care for him. Nordmann persistently states that Bozzy was too ill to be given 50 mg tablets of Tramadol, but that she did so because the 10 mg tablets were more expensive, and that I had quibbled over the cost. She is lying. Regardless of RCVS stating that 50 mg was the correct dosage, they were NOT present at the consultation. Nordmann told me, in front of witnesses who will be subpoenaed of necessary, that Bozzy was "very fit for an ancient dog". She needs to make her mind up, because he cannot have been both. If he was very ill, any RESPONSIBLE vet would not put an animal's life in danger the way she did, a decision which led to him losing that life.

The fact that Nordmann supplied the RCVS with a list of Bozzy's ailments and treatment leading up to the visit on 26 February 2016 when she prescribed the Tramadol illustrates my point precisely. She should have had more sense, professionally, than to prescribe this dangerous drug to a sick dog, and in such a strong dosage, irregardless of whether his owner signed a consent form or not. The owner is NOT qualified to know such things, which is why he consults the vet in the first place. I therefore accuse Birgit Nordmann of medical negligence and the canine equivalent of manslaughter, and further accuse the RCVS of supporting her.

3: Jordi Serrano has so far come up with three different stories over what happened. When he says he called me back to offer me medical advice, he is LYING. Serrano called my home once. My son answered the phone and could not understand a word Serrano was saying on account of his bad English. I called him back, and he told me to stop giving Bozzy the Tramadol. He did NOT call me back.

Jordi Serrano was LYING when he claimed in his statement that he 'double-checked' the potential side-effects of Tramadol and called me back. He did not. There was ONE three-minutes conversation between us only, much of this with me trying to work out his dreadful English. In his statement, Serrano says that Tramadol does not cause urine in the blood...then he goes on to state that he told me that if I stopped the Tramadol, the bleeding would stop. He further states that he 'double-checked' on the side-effects of the drug. He is contradicting himself, and quite clearly attempting to LIE himself out of a situation that he placed himself in, to such an extent that he does not know what he is is talking about. If this is not professional misconduct, I do not know what is.

4: I have no complaint with the Administrator, and would commend her for her kindness and compassion. It is a pity that these qualities do not rub off on the people she works for. She is the only one involved with this case who has not lied persistently.

5: Lisa Flood, I found to be rude and aggressive. When she states that she discussed Bozzy's medical history with me, she is LYING. When she states that I quibbled about the fees, she is LYING. The fact is that Flood categorically told me, WITHOUT having seen Bozzy, that if there was anything seriously wrong with him, then it was something that I had done, and not the vet. She must be an extraordinarily gifted veterinary surgeon of she can actually diagnose an patient WITHOUT seeing that patient.  It becomes patently obvious when reading her, Nordmann's and Serrano's statements that they have colluded to lie and invent conversations which never took place. There are so many holes in these that they become transparent. I can understand the RCVS not being aware that the wool has been pulled over their eyes with one concocted statement...but THREE?

I close in stating that the RCVS decision that incompetence has not taken place is, in itself, gross incompetence. Their closing statement, "Please rest assured that [your concerns] have been given very careful consideration" is no less ludicrous and offensive than the tissue of lies spun by the team of Nordmann, Serrano and Flood.

As I stated earlier, I would welcome Chantry Vets taking legal action against me, so that witnesses may be subpoenaed, and these three vets can be made to reiterate their statements while under oath, and before a media presence.