The Ox by Paul Rees

Author:Paul Rees [Rees, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Hachette Books
Published: 2020-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

The entire festival site took in around half a million people. You had everything there—people selling washing machines, coconut shies [fairground games] and a rock gig. After the show, I had to settle all the monies so I sent them all off in cars back to the hotel. We were staying at the George V Hotel, which was the height of five-star luxury. When I arrived back later that night, there was a crowd gathered around the hotel bar. Moon had made a bet that he could drink nineteen margaritas and then he was going to get on the piano and sing “Danny Boy.” So, I asked our security guy, Jim Callaghan, to keep an eye on him. Then I went upstairs and did my usual thing, which was to go and visit everybody in their rooms and make sure they were OK.

Eventually, I got to John’s suite. I found him sitting down to a late dinner. He’d got a napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt and a waiter on hand. The waiter had obviously just decanted a bottle of wine into a carafe. As I was catching up with John, into the room came Moon with nineteen margaritas inside him. He was all over the place. He lurched up to the table and slurred, “Hullo, John.” He put his finger into the pot of mustard and stuffed that in his mouth. Then he took the carafe, shook some pepper into it and threw it down in one shot. John was sat looking at him, but with no expression on his face. Moon took the silver-service cover off the plate in front of John. John had ordered a fillet steak. Moon snatched it up, took a bite out of it and put it back on the plate. It was like something out of a cartoon—there was the steak with a bite-shaped piece missing from it. Next thing, Moon turned around, walked over to the wall, pissed up against it and collapsed. The waiter couldn’t believe his eyes. Moon was lying there on the floor out cold.

At that point, John very deliberately took his napkin off and went over to the prostrate Moon. Moon had hanging around one wrist a big room key on a dongle. John removed the room key from Moon’s wrist and marched off to Moon’s room, which was just across the corridor from his own suite. He opened the door, went into the room, and shut the door again behind him. All that you could hear for the next twenty minutes was smash-crash-bang-smash. Then John came back out, grabbed Moon under his arms and dragged him off to his suite. He threw the key on him and shut the door.

John had smashed every single thing in that room… everything—the television, tables and chairs—the lot. About 4:00a.m., I got a call from Jim Callaghan. He told me that Moon had woken up and thought that he had wrecked his own room in a drunken frenzy. He was worried I was going to kill him.

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