about me, I’ll even come along and host that – but you’re going to have to get rid of the rape if you want me attached.
We successfully sued the Star for a large amount of money as a result of that libellous headline. Then began the more important business of finding out what on earth was going on.
The Scottish police contacted the agency; and two police officers came down from Edinburgh to talk to me, Matt and Trevor. Trevor bravely admitted to having consensual sex. To be clear, I wholeheartedly believe Trevor; to accuse Trev of rape is like accusing Desmond Tutu of arson or Stephen Fry of racism. Possible but so unlikely the world would topple from its axis, spun out by the gravity of the preposterousness. Apparently at that point she was so drunk that she didn’t remember, she just said “one of the men at the party” – and because of my rather unusual invitation system there were only three men at that party. Thankfully I wasn’t the one the accusation was levelled at.
As with all terrifying and difficult situations, remarkably, some incredibly funny things happened. Here are some of those incredibly funny things. Trevor had to describe to the police the night’s events, you have to go through it in meticulous fucking detail again and again and again, it’s a police inquiry. It’s tense. The word “rape” is flashing in neon throughout the proceedings. John and Nik are trying to be professional, although on some level they must be thinking, “Well, it was too good to be true … we took this junky and turned him into something.” The gravity of strife and mayhem had pulled me once more into its grim sphere. Perhaps I deserved it. All that showing off and decadence. There’s always a price to pay. You can’t just waltz out of rehab into stardom, diddling birds wherever you go, and expect the world to tolerate it. There is no escape, the gutter is greedy and it does not like to yield its brood.
“Well, what happened on the night in question?” asked the sullen, more Taggarty of the two Taggarts that had come down to resolve this case.
I do not like authority, so in a scenario like this, self-preservation is put aside in favour of tomfoolery. “Well thankfully I’ve got about a dozen witnesses who can tell you where I was, officer. I’ve got genetic evidence, DNA all over the bedroom. If you were to shine an ultraviolet light into my room it would look like Jackson Pollock had been in there, drunk on a trampoline, which I think at one stage he was, he’d strayed in by mistake with Alan Yentob who was making an obsequious documentary about him.”
Me and Matt were relatively safe now that Trevor had identified himself as the one who’d slept with the girl. Still, we had to accurately recite the events. “The girls all came upstairs and we had this gin and tonic and Trevor was nominated their barman.”
Trevor added piously, innocently, on the brink of tears, “I was in the corner of the room. I was in charge of preparing the gin and tonics. I was just there in the corner of the kitchen hacking up an old lemon …” Trevor paused, and the police looked up from their pads. Matt said, “Which is what Trevor calls a prostitute.” Well, we all thought it was very amusing and lightened the horrific mood. The police on the other hand simply arrested Trevor and took him down to Kentish Town Police Station.
It was a very difficult situation, and because of a quirk in Scottish law the case is never dropped. Trevor was accused but the case never went to court because the girl didn’t want to pursue it. The case can still at any time go to court, but it’s a little bit difficult because it’s two or three years ago now.
Matt and I were immediately exonerated and were able to continue the radio show, whilst the investigation meant Trevor was suspended. Also he was meant to do an item on a TV show we were doing, but had to be dropped, so the incident obviously had an incredibly negative effect
We successfully sued the Star for a large amount of money as a result of that libellous headline. Then began the more important business of finding out what on earth was going on.
The Scottish police contacted the agency; and two police officers came down from Edinburgh to talk to me, Matt and Trevor. Trevor bravely admitted to having consensual sex. To be clear, I wholeheartedly believe Trevor; to accuse Trev of rape is like accusing Desmond Tutu of arson or Stephen Fry of racism. Possible but so unlikely the world would topple from its axis, spun out by the gravity of the preposterousness. Apparently at that point she was so drunk that she didn’t remember, she just said “one of the men at the party” – and because of my rather unusual invitation system there were only three men at that party. Thankfully I wasn’t the one the accusation was levelled at.
As with all terrifying and difficult situations, remarkably, some incredibly funny things happened. Here are some of those incredibly funny things. Trevor had to describe to the police the night’s events, you have to go through it in meticulous fucking detail again and again and again, it’s a police inquiry. It’s tense. The word “rape” is flashing in neon throughout the proceedings. John and Nik are trying to be professional, although on some level they must be thinking, “Well, it was too good to be true … we took this junky and turned him into something.” The gravity of strife and mayhem had pulled me once more into its grim sphere. Perhaps I deserved it. All that showing off and decadence. There’s always a price to pay. You can’t just waltz out of rehab into stardom, diddling birds wherever you go, and expect the world to tolerate it. There is no escape, the gutter is greedy and it does not like to yield its brood.
“Well, what happened on the night in question?” asked the sullen, more Taggarty of the two Taggarts that had come down to resolve this case.
I do not like authority, so in a scenario like this, self-preservation is put aside in favour of tomfoolery. “Well thankfully I’ve got about a dozen witnesses who can tell you where I was, officer. I’ve got genetic evidence, DNA all over the bedroom. If you were to shine an ultraviolet light into my room it would look like Jackson Pollock had been in there, drunk on a trampoline, which I think at one stage he was, he’d strayed in by mistake with Alan Yentob who was making an obsequious documentary about him.”
Me and Matt were relatively safe now that Trevor had identified himself as the one who’d slept with the girl. Still, we had to accurately recite the events. “The girls all came upstairs and we had this gin and tonic and Trevor was nominated their barman.”
Trevor added piously, innocently, on the brink of tears, “I was in the corner of the room. I was in charge of preparing the gin and tonics. I was just there in the corner of the kitchen hacking up an old lemon …” Trevor paused, and the police looked up from their pads. Matt said, “Which is what Trevor calls a prostitute.” Well, we all thought it was very amusing and lightened the horrific mood. The police on the other hand simply arrested Trevor and took him down to Kentish Town Police Station.
It was a very difficult situation, and because of a quirk in Scottish law the case is never dropped. Trevor was accused but the case never went to court because the girl didn’t want to pursue it. The case can still at any time go to court, but it’s a little bit difficult because it’s two or three years ago now.
Matt and I were immediately exonerated and were able to continue the radio show, whilst the investigation meant Trevor was suspended. Also he was meant to do an item on a TV show we were doing, but had to be dropped, so the incident obviously had an incredibly negative effect
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