You either love him or hate him...
Yes, I have been in a band but never really had any truly “Rock and Roll” experiences (apart from a Derek Smalls incident at Nice airport…). However, I will relate the experiences of one of my best mates who for a while was in one of the few rock bands on the small island that we call Jersey. Now this was back in the 80s and Ade and his band had been booked to play a small pub in one of the numerous fishing villages in the area. They turned up early in the afternoon to perform a sound check then sat down to do what all good rock bands do before performing i.e. get royally ratted.

However, before they could start, the door to the pub banged open and in walked a large, burly man who immediately yelled at the landlord, “Turn that fucking jukebox off! You don’t need that anymore! I’m here! I’m all the entertainment you need!”

Yes, it was the man. The legend. It was Oliver Reed.

Ollie, already clearly a little sozzled, found out that there was going to be a rock band playing and insisted on buying them a drink. He’s shown to their table where he proceeds to buy then a round. “So you’re the band are you!? What kind of fucking shit are you going to be playing for us then!?”

After the first round, he gets the second. And the third. And the forth. In fact, he gets every single round of the afternoon. No-one could match him. He would have drunk his pint while the band were barely starting theirs. If anyone dared to get up to get the next round he would shout at them, “Put that fucking wallet away you fucking cock! You’re too fucking slow! I’ll get them in!”

And true to his word, he did, every single time. By the time the band came to play, they were absolutely paralytic. Ollie though, was barely affected, still knocking back the pints without them even touching the sides. Before the band went on though, Ollie had to wave goodbye.

“Sorry I can’t stick around to see you play boys, I’ve got to fly to London to be on some fucking talk show!” And with that, he left, leaving Ade and his band to fuddle their way through their set barely able to see straight.

So midnight comes and the band stagger off back to one of their homes where they crash out with more beer and food. As they are popping them open, one of them turns on the telly.

“Come here! Now! Come here! It’s him!” he shouts, prompting everyone to crowd around the TV which appears to be showing some late night discussion program. And sure enough, there he is, wearing exactly the same clothes as he had on in the pub. There’s Ollie, late night on Channel 4, clearly pissed out of his gourd. They had turned the telly on just in time to see him turn to the resident po-faced feminist and say, “Frankly dear, what you need is a big hard COCK!” A turn of events that would see him barred from telly for several years. Some of you may even remember it if you’re old enough.

So here’s to Oliver Reed, far more Rock and Roll than most of us could ever wish to be. Peace.
(Mr Evian, Mon 3 Jul 2006, 13:07, Reply)