David Edward Sutch wasn’t really a Lord, he was one of them maniac depressives. That meant that he spent half his time sincerely believing he was a Lord, or at least deserved to be one, and that everybody loved him and he could do anything that he turned his mind to. Sadly he spent the other half of his time believing that he was a useless lump, who everybody hated, and that everything he attempted was a waste of ruddy time. That’s the problem with them maniac depressives, they spend their whole lives flipping between those two moods. It can only be controlled by tablets to a certain extent, so they are always susceptible to wild highs and desperate lows.
During one of the wild highs, in 1963, he had the idea of paying musical tribute to Jack the Ripper, the famous serial killer and disemboweller of women. It might have been a chart success too, if it hadn’t been banned by the BBC. He followed it with a load of shocking, horror themed songs and used to have a crack potted stage act, where he came out of a coffin and ramped about with a real dagger and all weird ruddy make up all over his face. That ruddy Alice Cooper nicked all of Screaming Lord Sutch’s ideas, and made a fortune out of them. But that’s showbusiness I suppose.
Unfortunately, whilst he was suffering a low, in 1999, Sutch temporarily lost sight of what a genius he was and how much people actually did love him. So he went and ruddy well hanged himself. He always had style though, so he used a multi coloured skipping rope to do the deed with, rather than anything dull.
And he was a far from dull character, was Sutch. He was a funny and entertaining musician, a flamboyant dresser, (he usually had one of them top hats on, even when he was in bed, probably) and the leader of the wonderful Monster Raving Loony Party, in which role he stood as a candidate in forty elections and bye elections up and down the country. He never won any of them, but he brought a bit of colour, character and even common sense to a lot of dull, boring, and idiotic contests. He even gave that ruddy Thatcher a run for her money in the 1983 General Election, so the miserable old bint went and raised the deposit that people had to pay before standing in elections, just to be spiteful.
He knew how to have a good time though. On the night before every election he contested, he would have a victory party, “in order to avoid the disappointment of not being able to have one if he lost” and carried on doing his pop concerts right until the end of his days. Poor bloke. A lot of funny people suffer with that maniac depression. Tony Hancock, Spike Milligans, and that Stephen Fry. It must be something in their water that makes them so good when they aren’t down in the dumps.