Reed: "sheer terror"
Swipesters,
Fresh revelations regarding failed revolutionary and almighty piss-artist Oliver Reed. The widow of great British actor and drunkard has revealed how the star would wake up in a hot sweat most evenings, riddled with doubt as to his own drinking prowess. "He'd be in a terrible state", his widow (who has asked to remain nameless) claimed. "It was terrible to witness. It'd be 4 am or some ridiculous hour like that and he'd sit bolt upright with a look of sheer terror on his face and start gibbering on, saying things like, "why doesn't anyone want to drink with me? They all want to go out on the lash with Richard Harris. Why? Is he better than me? Can't I drink just as much as him?" I'd try to reassure him, telling him that his was a different sort of drinking and that it came more easily to the Irish. I said he should be proud of his achievements and that anyone could act when they were off their mash on Guinness and whiskey chasers. For him to get as rat-faced as he did on Metholated spirits with a lager top and still be able to bumble about on the set and get paid for it was a quite remarkable achievement. It didn't seem to help, but then it's difficult to get through to someone when they've got their lips virtually suctioned to a bottle of Smirnoff, still in their pyjamas at some ungodly hour of the morning." Having exhausted every other avenue in her attempts to mollify the doubt-wracked star, Reed's widow would eventually attempt one final throw of the dice: the good old British cuppa tea! "It was no use though", she sighed nostalgically, "Ollie would just throw it straight back at me and scream, 'what fecking use is that, there's no fecking booze in it, you retarded old hag!" Things were always lively when he'd been 'on the job!'"
Reed's widow was speaking at the Q awards where her husband had been nominated for the Lifetime achievement award, which was won in the end by Keith Moon.
Love on y'all,
Bob
No comments:
Post a Comment