Father Figure

RoveDaily lounge-lizard Devon Quince mooches with pop legend and serial offender George Michael.

Whilst I was in London I took the opportunity to catch up with some old friends. Sure, many of them are in prison on racketeering charges now, but there are still a few old blow-hards floating around. In particular my old mate George Michael- whose house I practically lived at when I was working in London all those years ago.

In those days I was writing for NME magazine, doing interviews with all the pop stars. Getting around in those circles I got to know George- or "Floppy" as I called him- pretty well. I was the inspiration for George and Elton's "Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me"- my original title was a little more explicit, but liked it just the same and tweaked it a little. Back then George and I had an insatiable apatite for Shirley Temple's and trombone sized joints- although from what I've been reading in the papers, it sounds like George still does.

Anyhow, I took the opportunity to have a chin wag with an old friend and hammer out a topical interview-piece for RoveDaily.

We sit in George's grand lounge room; chandeliers, grand piano, Chegal's et cetera. After a long, boozy lunch together, George is lying atop the piano blowing great plumes of smoke toward the ceiling.

Devon Quince: So George, you're still well and truly on the gear.

George Michael: Yep.

DQ: It's got you in a bit of trouble I hear. You lost your licence falling asleep at an intersection…

GM: Who cares? I've a got a driver.

DQ: Too shay. But, you don't think it might be time to give it up?

GM: You can talk Qunicy! Good luck getting you to pass the spliff! Just look what happened at lunch!

DQ: Too shay again! But we're not talking about me are we, George. You've been arrested for exposing yourself, driving under the influence. People are furious you appeared on TV smoking drugs…

GM: Look, this stuff makes me happy. And I can afford it.

DQ: To be honest George you could afford to buy gold plated bags of hooch.

GM: And why would I want to do that?

DQ: What?

GM: ……What?

DQ: I don't know. What did you say?

GM: No, what did you say?

DQ: Something about golden balls?

GM: Gold plated balls…

DQ: Yes, that was it.

GM: Do you remember when you used to pretend to be me and shag all those fans after the shows?

DQ: George…

GM: That was hilarious!

DQ: Please! It doesn't matter…

GM: No it doesn’t. But what does matter is getting you out of those clothes and into a nice hot spa of Tequila.

DQ: Sounds disgusting.

GM: It is!

George and I headed off to the Tequila spa to reminisce a little more. I won't go into detail, although George would like you to know I had to be resuscitated by his pool - lucky me!