Auntie Doris’s They Died Too Young #30: Screaming Lord Sutch – Died June 16th 1999, aged 58

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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.

Auntie Doris’s Twelve Days of Christmas. #10: Ten Lords a Leaping

 

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These Christmas presents get more ridiculous by the day. Have you ever seen what goes on in the House of Lords? It’s even on television these days, but I can’t imagine anybody watches it except if they have tuned in by mistake. There is precious little leaping going on in there. More like ten lords a dribbling on their own shoulders while they sleep. Besides, who would want ten Lords for Christmas anyway, wether they can manage to leap or not? How many ruddy Lords does the average person need. For that matter, how many Lords can the average person name? And what would you do if they all arrived at your front door on Boxing Day? The doorbell rings and there stands Ian Charmichael as Lord Peter Whimsey, the posh detective, he might have managed to unearth Lord Lucan, and brought him along. You would be surprised at the sight of that. Nobody’s seen him in years, since he did for the babysitter. Screaming Lord Sutch would make a mess of your flowerbeds tiptoeing through the tulips, or just getting his ruddy feet muddy trying to tiptoe in the claggy sod where he imagines they might be coming up in the Spring. Lord Haw Haw would be there probably wanting to interview you for one of his ruddy silly radio broadcasts. And Lord Snooty might show his face, and bring all of his pals. (Apart from the black one, because they wrote her out when it became against the law to draw cartoons of black people in comics). Then there’s Lord Sugar, and his friends, Colonel Mustard and Mrs Pepperpot. Ray Alan would turn up with Lord Charles on his arm. Ray Alan once tried to chat up my sister Pearl in Hammonds Department Store, but she didn’t realise it was him until she got home and saw in the paper that he was on at the local theatre. She said he looked different without his hand up a puppet’s arse, and he stank of dettol anyway) Lord Byron might treat you to one of his poems. Lord Nelson might frighten the kiddies by showing them what’s under his eye patch, and Lord Baden Powell might rightened the kiddies by inviting them into his tent. There! That’s ten of ’em. But my true love can keep ’em to his ruddy self. I don’t want them. I prefer a bit of peace and quiet. And I’d rather not share that bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream that our Michael got me for Christmas. Uncle Raymond’s Christmas Cracker Cackle of the Day: “She was only the executioners daughter, but she appreciated a well hung fellow.”