On the twelfth of May 2021, the bureaucracy of Heaven (a bit cumbersome and creaky at the best of times, it has to be said) was plunged into total chaos. The cause of this chaos was events that had taken place down on planet Earth just two days earlier in the form of a judgement handed down by the Special International Criminal Court sitting in Madrid (much of northern and eastern Europe now being a nuclear-blasted, radioactive wasteland).
Said sentence was delivered by the Court against a character you probably know well but whom I shall call only The Politician. The Politician was a former President of the Former United States of America (much of which now resembled much of northern and eastern Europe), who had become an internationally reviled and hated war criminal. For playing a central role in bloodshed and conflicts the world over and, most particularly, the short lived but catastrophic Nuclear War of 2019, The Politician was sentenced to death: ‘to be hung by the neck until dead’.
And so it was that The Politician’s corrupt, self-serving and immensely destructive life was extinguished at the end of a rope. And as the body swung lifelessly in the air, its soul exited the earthly remains. Upon which event, highly specialised computer systems somewhere in a far off, dusty corner of Heaven (at the least those are the best terms I can think to describe what happened, for the mechanics of Heavenly Bureaucracy are beyond the whit and ken of mere mortals) sprang automatically into action. The celestial and spiritual equivalent of bytes and megabytes were crunched, reams and reams of data analysed in a flash. A life was balanced, weighed, judged and a passport was issued for The Politician – a passport straight to Hell:
Dear The Politician,
Congratulations on your recent death and thank you for your interest in joining God and his Angelic Cohort in Heaven. Regretfully, I have to inform that on this occasion your application has not been successful. However, alternative accommodation has been found for you in Hell.
We very much hope you enjoy your stay.
The Heavenly Bureaucracy.
So far, so good, you think, an evil individual dispatched to Hell. That’s as it should be, is it not?
For you see, upon reaching Hell, The Politician, rather than being terrified and suffering, found it all rather convivial. Everywhere The Politician looked pain and suffering could be found. People being boiled alive, people being forced to watch as their intestines were ripped out, people rolling boulders up never-ending hills whilst being ferociously whipped, people being savagely raped by horse-hung and hugely tumescent demons and, worst of all, people chained to the spot and having to listen to ‘One Direction’ songs played on a continuous (continuous as in forever) loop…
As both a connoisseur and expert in pain and suffering and someone who had developed and enjoyed extreme appetites in all senses of the expression, The Politician found this fascinating, exciting and really quite wonderful – forgetting the humiliation of a political career ending in abject failure, imprisonment, sentencing and the terror and pain of hanging and the irreconcilable strangeness of death (which, it seemed, wasn’t really death), The Politician decided that dying hadn’t actually been that bad and that being sent to hell was, basically, hitting the jackpot!
And The Politician followed The Politician’s nature and got to thinking. Here was a chance to take the habits of a lifetime into death and beyond, for The Politician’s nature was that of all of that kind, the kind that set themselves to rule over others. The Politician was a psychopath, a creature that always, always wanted more. A creature of vile and despicable desires. A creature that would always put itself first at the expense of others, a creature obsessed with power and its own greed – one that lived and functioned solely to satisfy these needs, oblivious to the consequences for ordinary people who are, after all, but a detail in history. Sheep to the slaughter. Chickens for plucking.
How best then to slaughter these particular sheep, pluck these particular chickens?
How best to take advantage of the wonderful, and obvious, opportunities that Hell presented to inflict pain and misery?
This iconic pic was taken by photographer Kevin Carter. He killed himself two days later. I cannot think of any one single image that better sums up the evil psychopathy of an economic and political system that judges it fine and good that the world’s 62 richest individuals have as much wealth as the poorest 50% of humanity combined. We are ruled by psychopaths and we have developed an economic and political system that encourages and rewards them. If things don’t change, humanity does not have a future (or at least not one you’ll want to live in).
Welcome to a world ruled by psychopaths. Beloved of the Devil, they are his Special Children.
Welcome to a world where greed is king and might is right. Love, God and the Soul lie lost and forgotten, replaced by a shallow and vicious corporate culture of consumption. Welcome to a world where news is propaganda, democracy a badly scripted pantomime. Welcome to a world where people exist only as consumers, working to buy shiny bling that they don’t need – only to replace it the next year with the same, but upgraded, bling. Welcome to a world of dwindling resources and environmental catastrophe. Welcome to a world where there is much for a few and little for the many.
There will always be a last kiss.
There will always be a last caress.
There will always be a last kind word.
There will always be a last time you make love.
There will always be a last sunrise.
There will always be a last sunset.
There will always be a last time you feel the sun on your face, and the sand between your toes, and the wind in your hair.
There will always be a last time you smell the scent of freshly fallen snow.
There will always be a last time you hear the birds sing.
There will always be a last time you walk the dog together.
There will always be a last time you say ‘I love you’.
There will always be a last time you argue and make up.
There will always be a last time you say ‘hello’.
There will always be a last time you say ‘goodbye’.
There will always be a time you share a pizza, and a drink, and a joke, and a triumph and a tragedy.
There will always be a last time so try, best as you can, to forget the bad. Focus on every moment of love and wonder that God grants you; hold them to your soul and enjoy every second for they are the most precious gift God has to give.
In this extract from my celebrity satire/thriller ‘I Really Really Want It’, we meet foul-mouthed, homophobic Shelley. Shelley wants extraordinary celebrity agent, Andrew Manning, to blackmail her famous, closeted gay husband into giving her a huge divorce settlement. But Shelley has her own dark secret…
SHELLEY. TIME FOR A QUICK SMOKE?
Finally, the slow and tedious drive through London’s crawling traffic is over and Shelley arrives at Anthea’s house in Holland Park, she always stays there when she’s in London. She and Anthea are Best Friends Forever. They’ve known each other since way back, from when they were in “Girls Gone Wild.” There were four girls in the (quite successful at the time) band but Shelley only ever really liked Anthea. Chardonnay and Alicia were bitches and cunts, and where the fuck are they now? Losers! They hadn’t been smart, but Anthea and Shelley had been. Shelley had used the band as a base from which to start her solo career, Anthea had exploited her celebrity and good looks to grab herself an extremely ugly but ridiculously rich banker. Christ, Shelley can feel nothing but admiration for the way she played that prick! Led him by the fucking nose, married him, stuck with him for a couple of years, then divorced him, taking almost everything he had. Honestly, men can be such gullible dickheads, show them a bit of tit and a glimpse of snatch and, in no time at all, you can have them behaving like well-trained dogs!
Once inside Anthea’s house (she has her own key, that’s how BFF she and Anthea are), she makes straight for the beautiful living room and throws herself into a gorgeous sofa, dropping her Prada bag onto a gorgeous coffee table, which rests on a gorgeous carpet. Shelley really likes Anthea’s place, she makes her mind up that she too will buy a home in Holland Park when the divorce money comes through from Jack faggotpants.
Yes, the divorce settlement, more money, more success…what a wonderful day it’s been! It’s going to be so great when Anthea gets back from her latest shopping trip. Shelley can’t wait to tell her what’s about to happen to Jack, how she’s about to blackmail him into a huge pay out. Hah, she is so going to screw him! Nobody fucks with Shelley!
Shelley muses happily for some minutes about her upcoming freedom from Jack and her fabulous future career in America, until her thoughts stray, unstoppably, to that package, nestled comfortably in the Prada bag. She takes it out, rolls it around in her hands, a greedy and needing expression on her face. Using her sharp finger nails, she quickly tears at and then unwraps the cellophane from the package, to reveal a substantial, round rock of crack cocaine. She places the rock of crack on Anthea’s gorgeous coffee table. Taking a nail file from her handbag she begins to chip away at the off-white coloured lump, which has a texture somewhere between wax and brittle plastic. Expertly she detaches smaller rocks from the main block, each new rock just the right size for a single good hit when smoked. There’s loads of crack here, enough to last her and Anthea a couple of nights, if they don’t go too mad! As well as BFFs, she and Anthea are also BDBs, Best Drug Buddies.
She loves her crack does Shelley, fantastic stuff. Okay, so maybe the next day you might feel a bit down, a bit paranoid, but nothing that can’t be smoothed out with a few drinks. Or some more crack. And the hit, Christ the hit! Once felt never forgotten! She knows of course that she shouldn’t really be smoking it, what with her being famous, rich and beautiful and in a responsible position due to her influence over the young people of the world, but the public just doesn’t realise that being famous, rich and beautiful is very hard work. Every day is filled with questions. What should I wear? Am I slim enough? How’s my make-up today? Have I got the right handbag for this or that occasion? Who should I be seen to be speaking to? Which party do I go to, and which should I snub? Where should I be this afternoon to stand the best chance of being papped? These are all difficult and complex questions. Being a celeb is a demanding business, not everybody can handle it. Her lifestyle involves a lot of a pressure, and the crack is Shelley’s way of relaxing, of dealing with the stress she endures every day. She deserves it. She is entitled to it.
Of course she has been in trouble with the crack before, resulting in some fairly unpleasant media coverage, but she had dealt with that, although it did involve some help from that hideous queer, Andrew. But that’s all in the past. She’s much more careful now, more discreet, she’ll never be caught again. “Never say never,” says a little voice somewhere in the back of Shelley’s head, but she chooses to ignore it.
Shelley wonders if she should smoke a quick rock before Anthea gets back? Why the hell not!
This is a very short, very dark piece. I think I should point out it absolutely does not come from my own experience. Exactly where it does come from, I have no idea. I know I wrote it because found it a few days ago, scrawled in my spider-style ‘handwriting’ on one of the booklets I use to note down ideas. But I have absolutely no recollection of writing it all. Weird. I can only assume that someone, somewhere had something they needed to say…
The things that Daddy did left me breathless and in pain. The things that Daddy did – I can’t grasp why, I can’t explain.
The things that Daddy did stretched me and tore me and made me bleed, because Daddy had a need, Daddy had a greed.
The things that Daddy did I had to keep between him and me, I asked him why, he said ‘or else Mummy will die’.
The things that Daddy did were my fault – the kind of things that happen to cheap little sluts, no ifs, no buts.
The things that Daddy did left me unable to trust, unable to hope, unable to love, unable to see my life ending in anything but bust.
The things that Daddy did stole from me all the things that would have allowed me to be the person I was meant to be.
The things that Daddy did have left me an adult who is alone and helpless and adrift, thank you Daddy for your poisonous gift.
So now as I sit here, with razor blade, diazepam and whisky – completing the journey of self-destruction upon which you, Daddy set me – I have just one thing left to say:
“Fuck you, Daddy, fuck you, fuck, fuck you”.
Blimey…look at that, I’m a No.1 best-selling author on Amazon.com. Okay, it’s in a subcategory (Lawyers and Criminals/Humor) and it doesn’t mean masses in terms of sales but there are 2.8 million Kindle books on Amazon so I’m still pleased with myself!
There you go, my book I Really Really Want at no.1! Here’s the blurb and a link if you want to buy (go on, you know you do!).
AUTHORS NOTE: The events described in this book are true, exactly as told to me by an extraordinary celebrity agent before his fall from grace and imprisonment on fake, trumped up charges. I have changed only names and locations to protect the innocent – and the guilty.
“Excellent writing. Fresh, engaging and pushing the boundaries. It’s written by someone who has obviously worked in the celebrity industry he describes and provides a fascinating left-field insight into a glamorous but tawdry world.” U.S. REVIEWS
AUTHOR’S WARNING. Please note, as previously mentioned this is a true story. It reflects bad people doing bad things and features a high degree of profanity and some scenes that are violent or sexual in nature. I make no apologies for that; ‘the truth is rarely plain and never simple’ – and usually ugly.
Celebrities have secrets. Meet the man who knows them all and will do anything to keep them quiet. Even murder.
Andrew Manning has spent 20 years masterfully reviving celebrity careers that have been rocked by scandal, but now some particularly difficult and demanding characters are about strain even his abilities to the limit:
Shelley. Model and fashion icon, she’s determined to blackmail her closeted, gay footballer husband into a lucrative divorce settlement…but Shelley has her own dark and destructive secret.
Joey. Handsome, young reality TV star and sex symbol. His career is in tatters after launching an expletive-laden attack against the Queen of England, but he’s determined to hang on to his celebrity even if it means slowly poisoning himself to death.
The Producer, a king in the world of entertainment, Rich, powerful, sexually deviant and a serial abuser of hopeful young wannabes.
Charlie. Morbidly obese, murderous Mafiosi adviser (and creature) to…
Janey. Musical superstar, mad, bad and dangerous to know. Janey consumes liquidized human fetuses in the belief this will preserve her youthful (or should that be vampiric?) good looks.
Johnny. Andrew’s partner, a psychopath with a heart of gold and voices in his head. He’s on a mission to murder as many celebrities as possible.
And when an ambitious young photographer snaps Janey in the middle of one of her disgusting meals, things begin to spin rapidly out of control for Andrew.
How will Andrew reconcile the demands of such disparate and desperate characters. And who’s going to end up dead?
I Really, Really Want It also features shocking cameo performances from a glittering list of famous, household names. Is your favorite celebrity in the book?
Thanks for visiting this blog. But who am I? Nothing special. I live in England. I have some strange ideas in my head. I struggle with understanding what this world is about: is it really all random? I am blessed with a loving husband and family and four beautiful dogs. I eat, drink, sleep and bleed if you cut me. I am different things to different people at different times. I am capable of great kindness, casual and thoughtless cruelty, amazing wisdom and breathtaking stupidity. I am chameleon, comedian and caricature (thank you, Mr. Bowie). I can reach for the stars or trawl the gutter. I can love or hate with equal ferocity. I have dark and primeval places in my mind that I fear to visit. I am simultaneously crushed and inspired by my heritage. Some days life leaves me bursting with joy, other days I am breathless with fear. I am a twitching bundle of insecurity and contradiction. I am flawed yet breathtakingly wonderful. I hold within me a power, grace and spirituality so intense that I cannot even begin to understand it. I am beautiful. I am human. I am me. I am you.
“I am nothing but mud and seawater, seasoned with a hint of consciousness.”
If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to email me direct at: firstname.lastname@example.org