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.
Jeanine was better known as “The Singing Nun” or “Sister Smile.” She was a Belgian lass, she was really a nun, and she had an international pop hit when she was 30 in 1963 with a happy sounding song called “Dominique.”
Imagine that! A ruddy nun in the hit parade, and it wasn’t Julie Andrews! She was a proper Catholic Nun who believed (as they do) that she was married to Jesus.
She got really famous really quickly and toured the ruddy world, doing concerts and going on the television all over the place. The famous actress, Debbie Reynolds out of “Debbie Does Dallas” even portrayed her in one of them Hollywood Movies.
But at the heart of her story was a tragedy. She was one of them Lesbians. Not that I’ve got anything against lesbians you understand. As far as I’m concerned, good luck to them. If you are a lesbian you are much less likely to end up living with a useless lump like my Raymond, and that can’t be a bad thing. I would have been one myself, but I just couldn’t develop those sort of feelings. I would have rather stroked my Hairy Mary than got that friendly with another woman. Come to think of it, by the time I got my Hairy Mary, I would much rather have stroked her than got that friendly with my Raymond. She was a lovely little Doggie. I was ruddy apoplectic when he went and trod on her getting out of bed that morning. I never had another companion like her until after he had died and I got Madamoiselle Tuppence.
Any road it was bad enough being a pop star when you was a Catholic Nun. Never mind if you found out you were a lesbian an’all. So she had to leave the Nunnery.
The trouble was that she had given all her pop music money to the other nuns. Probably so they could mend the nunnery roof, or buy some new wimples or something. So she was skint.
The further trouble was that the Belgian Government didn’t believe her, and decided that she owed them thousands and thousands of Belgian pounds in tax. And they got increasingly grumpy with her when she couldn’t pay up.
It wasn’t as if she was living in luxury either. Her and her girlfriend were just about making ends meet, and seeing as they were still religious and kind hearted, they were trying to run a school for autistic children an’all. They had hearts of gold.
But the government weren’t having any nonsense. It looked like they would be declared bankrupt and have to become paupers for the rest of their days. Even releasing a disco version of “Dominique” didn’t help. She was yesterday’s news, and no one wants to pay good money for a disco version of yesterday’s news. So her and her girlfriend took an overdose of tablets and topped themselves.
Very sad. Religious rules and over zealous tax collectors. Fortunately, Jeanine and her girlfriend are very happy here on the other side. They play concerts together and sing lots of new songs, as well as Dominique. Not that either of them would advise anyone to top themselves though. They even think that things might have turned out a lot better for them in the realm of the living if they hadn’t. Depression is a terrible thing. But most people manage to get through it with help. And people aren’t quite as horrible to lesbians as they used to be. Or Catholics. Most of the time.