Good day, what ho and shiver me timbers! There you go, fellow Fusiliers - a selection of greetings which you can borrow to add spice to your day. But now, to business.
I first met Keith Moon and Oliver Reed at L'Hotel Outrageous in Paris, just after they'd completed filming the rock opera 'Tommy'. I was sitting in the bar, enjoying an early-morning crate of cognac, and noticed the two stars descending through the ceiling in a helicopter. The draft from the machine made it impossible to read my copy of 'Les Perversions Parisienne', so I sat quietly, occasionally taking a sip from my bucket of brandy. By chance, their aircraft landed at the table next to mine, and the two of them stumbled out, obviously a little drunk. Moon was dressed as 'Tommy' himself, and was acting in character. Pretending to be deaf, dumb and blind, he stumbled to the bar wearing an oversize pair of spectacles, an ear trumpet and, using a loudhailer, he ordered drinks for everyone in the room. Surprisingly, a group of soberly-dressed businessmen, who were holding a meeting at one of the execuitive tables, accepted his offer and ordered drinks for themselves. Reed, full of mischief as usual, was naked except for a bow tie and earrings and was riding a motorbike.
Moon wasted no time in attempting to outrage the clientele. Jumping onto a table, he took out his penis and waggled it about, shouting, "Right, whch one of you French fillies is going to put in a bid for this?" However, since the businessmen had been doing just that for the past hour, it didn't get noticed. No doubt he would have gone further, but just then Reed pulled up on his bike with more drinks. "Let's get these down us, lads, and then we'll have breakfast", said the actor. Then, turning to go to the bar for more drinks, he noticed me sitting with my bucket. "F**k me - Fuse!!!", he cried (Reed often spoke using asterisks). "You old b*stard! Where have YOU been h*ding?" (he sometimes got pieces of food stuck in his teeth, and the asterisks became lodged in the wrong words). "Oliver, Oliver, Oliver...", I responded, for some reason being blighted by temporary insanity and thinking there were three of him. "Well now - when was it last? Monte Carlo, 1966? Yes - you were filming 'Mary Poppins vs Psycho' and I was in town for business. Goodness! How are you, dear chap?" He laughed heartily, then threw up on a passing nun. "I'm fine, just fine. Look - Moon and I are going to a party tonight with Rock Hudson and Liberace. Do you want to come along?" Sensing a good time, I asked, "will there be many women there?" Reed bellowed, "with those two scallywags with us? Of course! Tell you what, I'll go to the bar for more drinks".
Moon, who had been strangely quiet up till then, suddenly appeared driving a petrol tanker full of whisky. "Here, Olly, no need to go to the bar. We'll fill our buckets ourselves". I noticed that Moon was smoking a 'reefer' containing the psychedelic drug 'pot', and was giggling somewhat. "Here, Fusey, have a toke on this", he said, handing me a cigarette the size of Albania. Not being used to illicit substances - I was raised in a God-fearing family of Quakers, who didn't allow narcotics before lunch - I hesitated. "Go on", laughed the eccentric yet talented percussionist, "I've just got back from a convention of eccentric yet talented percussionists, and I've got loads of the stuff". "Oh well, it won't harm, will it?", I retorted, and gulped in a casual lungfull. "That's the ticket!", laughed Moon. "Here, if you get the munchies, just chew on this", and he handed me a three-course dinner from his inside pocket. By then, the 'Morroccan Tea' had affected my mind a little, and I was convinced that the lunch was J Edgar Hoover. "Moon!", I yelled, "it's the FBI - they're here to arrest us!". Luckily, Moon was convinced that the three-course dinner was Keith Richards, and calmed me down. "It's okay, Fusey. Old Keef here will sort things out", he said, pointing to a portion of roast potatoes. But, by then, things had become too much, and I made my excuses and left.
Dear friends, if you ever spend two weeks in a hospital in Paris, under the impression that the doctors are all cartoon characters from Disney's 'Fantasia', don't say I didn't warn you.
