Summer of Savile – Day 6: Chaos
Sundays are supposed to be for relaxing. Jesus gets all pissy if you spend his day running about the place, shouting and knocking things over, instead of quietly contemplating or nibbling on a teacake in front of The Antiques Roadshow. I’ll be honest here, I’m trying to goad Jesus into a fight. It’s like when you go to prison for the first time, they say you should stick a shank in the baddest guy on the yard to assert your authority. If I were to get into a shoving match with the King of Jews, (Jesus, not David Baddiel) which I would win because he’s a skinny little hippy, then I’d be the Simon Adebisi of the prison yard of life.
With that in mind, I am ruining this quiet Sunday for everybody with some utter chaos, courtesy of Jimmy Savile, and if Jesus doesn’t like it, He can come and tell me to my face. Oh, and don’t pretend you couldn’t find me, aren’t you supposed to see everything??
In a twinkling the place was bedlam. Royal Marine Captain Chris Goode commandeered the only public phone and was shouting map references down a bad line to two helicopter pilots who were to fly above me on the morrow. The Mayor arrived unannounced and had to sit on the arm of my chair. Two priests arrived to exhort me to visit their youth club. As there were no chairs left, the clerics knelt on the floor by my seat.
The Mayor, a Royal Marine, two priests and a helicopter. It’s like the start of a joke that ends with a punchline about an Irishman getting hit on the tip of the penis with a bolt of lightning.
It doesn’t end there.
The only casualties of the evening had been the Marine Captain and his sergeant, Neil Fisher, who had both fallen out of an open window and didn’t reappear till dawn.
Bring it, zombie-boy.