‘Allo, mates! It is I, Pete Doherty, who is back to settle these bloody rumours ’bout that blooming white powder on me crotch. Wot’s that? Ah yes, ’twas the same powder that’s been discovered in Amy Winehouse’s nose, but jus’ listen’ to wot I want to say to ye.
When I went to visit me “troubled pal” at 4am, she needed nourishment in a v. bad way. So, that mysterious white substance wasn’t cocaine or heroin — ’twas powdered donuts laced with arsenic*, which is much better for our daft bodies than the ketamine cocktail that we used to wash down with a nice glass of heroin. Now, how Amy’s beastly nose got to me crotch remains a mystery, but ’twas arse over elbow as far as I can remember.
It’s been a bugger of a week for ol’ Petey — all right, mates? A random drug dealer, who I may or may not know, attacked me in a pub. The bloody thug screamed “You should get your gear from me,” and then delivered a punch to me handsome face that knocked me clear out. Wot a bloody capitalistic thing to do. And then some lady photog filed assault charges on me, when I only tried to slay the mighty dragon and thus defend the honour of Irina the cracking supermodel, whose face I cannot even ‘member at this point.
So who could blame aggro me for skipping a gig at Shockwaves NME Awards Launch Party? Though it sucked when bloody Drew McConnell replaced me frontman duties with a fan from the front row:
McConnell took the stage, explaining: “Alright, my name is Drew this Adam, this is quite embarrassing really but it’s been a hell of a day. Adam and I here the other two boys (Doherty and guitarist Mick Wittnall) in the band aren’t. It’s a pain in the arse really. Do you know how to play? What’s your name? Jamie? Come on, let’s get Jamie up here.” The fan, Jamie Dell, was then helped over the barrier, taking the guitar from McConnell, who resumed his bass rolls as the makeshift trio performed ‘Carry On Up The Morning’, with Dell singing the song in a Doherty-esque voice. “I thought that was fucking beautiful man,” McConnell told the crowd after the fan returned to the audience, “he’s doing better than I am for fuck’s sake!”
Wot the hell is a “Doherty-esque voice” got to do with it it, mates? It all sounds a bit dodgy if you ask me, which of course, they did not. Fookin’ prats.
In conclusion, examining these cheeky photos of me crotch sure as hell beats looking at globs of me earwax, right mates?
* An ace stroke of genius, yes, but ’twas forged from Flowers In The Attic. Quite tasty, too.
Previously: The Problem With David Beckham’s Crotch
