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.
If it wasn’t properly the end of the twentieth century, as some ruddy clever clogs people kept pointing out, but it was definitely the end of the 1900s. From the last year of Queen Vicoria’s reign to the 48th year of Queen Elizabeth’s, from Lord Salisbury to Tony Blair, and from the Oxo tower to the Millennium Dome. It had been a long, long time.
In ’99, we were all very interested on the other side to hear the renowned British philosopher GCM Hoddle give his views on life after death and reincarnation. Hoddle was a good old fashioned British all rounder, famous not only for his deep thinking and integration of eastern philosophies with traditional Christian belief, but as a singer who was no stranger to “Top of the Pops” and a professional footballer, who won fifty odd caps for England, scored a hatful of international goals and eventually became manager of the national team.
He introduced a number of innovations to international football management, including signing up a faith healer to look after the team’s physical condition by twiddling feathers and shaking maracas over them whilst speaking in tongues. This strategy got them to the second round of the 1998 World Cup, where they were knocked out by Argentina after it went to penalties and David Batty missed the last one, this despite the fact that he had walked around the field in an anti clockwise direction beforehand and communicated directly with the hearts of all his players.
The following year, he lost the respect of a nation, when, in an interview with the times, he suggested that disabled people were paying for the sins that they had committed in a past life. The Lord alone knows where he got that idea from. Perhaps after the Argentina defeat, he had been a bit run down and hit the Croft Original a bit hard. If only I had been able to set him right back then, but as someone who hadn’t been dead long, and had not yet got back in contact with the land of the living, I was helpless.
The fact is, that as one of them born again, Christians, he had the wrong end of the stick when it came to re-incarnation. Most Christians have, because it’s not actually one of their traditional beliefs. They get confused and mix it up with the ruddy resurrection, which is an entirely different matter. Then again, as a matter of fact, most of the religions in the realm of the living are wide of the mark when it comes to re-incarnation. They all seem to reckon that human life should strive for perfection in some way, when actually what it’s all about is striving for experience. And as far as The Meld where we all come from s concerned, experience isn’t perfect or imperfect, good or evil, worthy or unworthy or any of the rest of it. It’s just experience. It doesn’t matter if you win the ruddy World Cup, or go out to Argentina on penalties in the second round. All eventualities are taken care of in an infinite collection of multiverses anyway. Able bodied, disabled, rich, poor, black, white or red all over, it doesn’t ruddy matter in the long run. Just get on with your life and enjoy it as best as you can. Be true to yourself, be the person that you are, try to be the person that you aspire to be, but don’t get uptight if you fall short. Just keep aspiring. I know that you are a good one, you have come this far with me. there’s plenty of others I could name that wouldn’t have. Give yourself a pat on the back and get on with it.
Auntie Doris’s pop pick of 1999 “Everybody’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen)” by Baz Luhrmann. It’s a ruddy queer song, but there is some nice thought gone into it.