Gary Glitter, Gary Glitter. Oh man, it takes me back to a time when I was allowed to stay up and watch Top of the Pops, and even in those days, even when I was eight or nine, I still thought he was crap. 'D'you wanna be in my gang, my gang, my gang...' (Stomp. Cue wide, beseeching eyes, like some sick Pied Piper.) I wish to God he'd fallen off those platform boots and broken his neck, or poisoned himself by inhaling too much hairspray; but the sun, alas, shines on good and evil alike. Glitter made record sales out of the pocket money of kids like me. And went on to even worse exploitation, the very worst of all abuse: abuse and rape of children.
Some say (he himself would say it for certain) he has done his time. But he did his time before, and time in prison taught him nothing. Secure in his royalty payments, he hot-tailed it to Vietnam to exploit and abuse more children there. And now, perhaps, he is fetching up in Falmouth (as he will have to fetch up somewhere), to live around the corner from a primary school and art school, Falmouth being very nuch (and unusually for Cornwall these days) a town of the young.
Segue to previous post: yes, indeed, friends, I may be better off in Mayfair!
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