Never Mind The Contract

Christopher Spivey.

 

I now have a new version of my book “Never Mind The Sex Pistols, Here’s The Bollocks” out now, although it is obviously the same content as the first edition… It just has a slightly different cover.

PHOTO: The books new cover

If you do buy the book – and it really is very good, even if I do say so myself – make sure you buy this edition, because Gary Heath is still selling the first edition despite me withdrawing my permission for him to do so.

His edition of the book has the following cover:

Do NOT buy this version.

I have been forced to take this action because despite the repeated requests that I have made to Gary for the money he owes me – dating back to four months ago – he still hasn’t paid me.

You can buy the 2nd edition of the book – which I have full control of – by clicking HERE 

It is also available to buy on Kindle at the same link.

I should also point out that the book is not a biography of the Sex Pistols or even about their music… And you will piss your pants reading it.

Neverthelesas, it is a fictitious story about a mafia plot to assassinate a world famous American singer at a concert he is giving.
However, the mafia want to distance themselves from the killing and pass the job on to a famous London Crime Family to do the deed.
This crime family have connections to Jon Lydon – lead singer of the Sex Pistols – via Lydon’s old man Paddy (a former IRA terrorist) and use that connection to get close to the American singer.

The following is taken from the book:

Born in June 1958, Jonathan Elizabeth (in honour of his mother’s close friend, the Queen of England) Sigmund Smythe Lydon, was destined to be the only legitimate child born to Patrick Lydon and his wife, Lady Felicity Smythe Lydon.

His parents had enjoyed a long and in the main happy marriage, despite coming from the most diverse a backgrounds possible. Jon’s father, Patrick, Shamus ,Sean, O’Malley, Dermot, Oh Danny Boy, Michael, When Irish eyes are smiling, Kieran, Pope John Paul, Top-A-D’marnin-To-Ya-Sir, Kenny, Git t’feck, Steven, George, Linus, Saint Francis of Assisi, Rose, Lydon the second, or Paddy for short, was born a stone’s throw away from the notorious Falls Road in Belfast, Northern Ireland in 1927.

When young Paddy turned 18 he prepared himself to face the arduous journey across ‘The Water’ in a bid to escape his lifelong poverty. That would have been sometime in the late summer of 1945, because by the winter of 1948 he was ready to go and in the autumn of 1949 he finally made the difficult crossing.

Paddy’s new life began in Bethnal Green, East London where he at first found himself desperately lonely without the company of his forty two brothers and sisters. Nevertheless Paddy was no quitter, taking comfort from the thought that one day he would be able to return back across ‘The Water’, into the arms of his beloved mother. Indeed, he knew that when that day finally came he would be in a position to say, “Ma, would ya look atcha buoy, a success iyam t’be sher, t’be sher and rightly so, so it is”.

Nevertheless young Paddy needed to push all thoughts of returning to the Elephant and Castle in South London – his family home ever since his father brought the clan over from Ireland in 1930 – to the back of his mind for the time being, since he needed a job in order to bring about his pipe dream.

Taking on hard ‘but by firkin Christ honest’ employment at Michael ‘Provo’ Callahan’s waste management company, Paddy worked, not to mention cheated, stole and fought his way up through the ranks of the skip hire business. This alone would be considered a major achievement for an illiterate Irish man such as Paddy. But when you also take into account that at the same time he was also busy working, cheating, stealing and fighting his way up through the ranks of the I.R.A, or was it the U.D.A…Actually it could have been the P.V.C or the H.G.V… it was one of the terrorist organisations anyway, it is a true testament to the kind of man he was.

By 1950 Paddy felt he was ready to go it alone and in a major coup he successfully managed to chair a takeover bid for Callahan’s Waste Management Company. The deal saw Paddy take charge of Callahan’s fleet of Lorries, a waste transfer station, a weigh bridge and a brick built site office and toilet. And all for the unbelievably low price of 1 pound 7 shillings and sixpence.

The reason Paddy was able to negotiate this once in a lifetime deal was all down to the chaired takeover bid taking place behind ‘Provo’ Callahan’s back, in so much as Paddy picked up the heavy, site office chair and smashed it across Callahan’s back while his boss wasn’t looking. The force of the blow sent Callahan crashing to the floor.

Paddy, who had been brought up to believe that if a jobs worth doing, it’s worth doing well, then proceeded to kick the ‘be jesus’ out of his former employer. Then, just before Callahan lost consciousness, Paddy emptied the contents of his trouser pockets (1 pound, 7 shillings and 6 pence funnily enough, along with a half sucked lollypop) over his ex boss and re-pocketing the lolly, told him to “take that and feck off”.

Paddy’s dramatic rise in status, not to mention profile, inevitably attracted the attention of the various Crime Lords who ran the London ‘underworld’ at the time. In order to stop these ruthless gangsters muscling in on the business he’d worked so hard for, Paddy found himself forced into a number of violent feuds.

One of the bloodiest of these feuds involved an infamous South London ‘firm’ led by the notorious Richardson brothers, Sandy and Edward, along with a certain well known, feared gangster by the name of Franklyn Frazer.

Now, while the major players in this violent ‘turf war’ refuse to tell, or simply can’t remember, the events that surrounded this power struggle, there is strong evidence to suggest that Paddy was the person responsible for ‘knee-capping’ Sandy Richardson, the brains and senior manager of the Richardson firm.

This evidence was based on the fact that ‘kneecapping’ is known to be a favoured punishment dished out by Irish terrorists and also on the fact that on his release from hospital, Sandy Richardson now confined to a wheelchair, signed over his scrap yards and various other criminal rackets to Lydon, after which the former promptly dropped out of the gangland scene altogether.

Although these two facts didn’t give the police enough evidence to prove in the law courts that it was Lydon who crippled Richardson, it is worth noting that having signed his interests over to the Irishman, Richardson also promptly upped sticks and relocated to Kings Oak in the Midlands where he used the last of his money to buy shares in the Crossroads Motel. Less than a week later Paddy moved into Sandy Richardson’s Denmark Hill mansion.

Following Sandy Richardson’s exile to the Midlands, Franklyn ‘Franky’ Frazer – a well known, very dangerous, Newcastle born associate of the Richardson’s who had been officially certified mad on three occasions – started a business supplying pinball machines to pubs and clubs. Frazer’s partner in this new venture was his long time friend and associate Edward Richardson – brother to Sandy.

Trading under the name Antarctic Machines, the two formidable gangsters had no problem renting out their stock regardless of whether their customers wanted the machines or not. One such club bullied into renting a couple of Antarctic’s machines was the newly opened and very fashionable ‘Mr Spivs’ in Catford high street, South London.

One night, a few months after Sandy Richardson had fled to the Midlands, Lydon and his formidable group of henchmen were in ‘Mr Spivs’ enjoying a rowdy bender and a quiet drink – although the poof wasn’t so rowdy after being buggered by Paddy and his thugs – when who should walk in but none other than Frazer, Richardson and their own gang of hoodlums.

At first all looked to be fine with the two rival ‘Firms’, pretty much ignoring each other. That is until Lydon, on his way to the toilet, bumped into Edward Richardson. Paddy is reportedly supposed to have then told Richardson how sorry he was to hear that things hadn’t worked out for his newly crippled brother Sandy after being forced to sell his shares in ‘Crossroads’. When Eddie replied that he didn’t know ‘what the fuck’ the Irishman was talking about, Paddy is alleged to have said that he heard Sandy had sold his shares in the motel because he was fed up with the other shareholders always pushing him around.

Richardson quite rightly took exception to Paddy’s cruel jibe and promptly challenged him to a ‘straightner’ (a one on one fist fight). Paddy, never one to shirk a challenge, readily accepted and proceeded to knock the living daylights out of the powerfully built Richardson.

 When Frazer tried to intervene in order to stop Paddy doing Richardson serious damage, a free for all started between the two warring factions. Taking advantage of the ensuing chaos, Lydon then pulled out a gun and calmly shot Frazer.

The bullet hit the Geordie in the shoulder where it ricocheted off his collarbone, travelled down his arm and exiting at his elbow where, quite unbelievably, the said bullet then entered Richardson’s buttock.

After Frank and Eddie’s release from hospital, Lydon, now the new owner of Antarctic Machines invited the pair to join him in his rapidly growing criminal Empire. However, while Frazer readily accepted the offer, Richardson declined, electing to enter into the more sedate and far safer world of drug dealing.

Unfortunately, any notions Lydon may have had that he was now too powerful for any other ‘firm’ to try and muscle in on his interests were very short lived and Just weeks after the Mr Spiv’s incident, Paddy found himself the focus of the notorious East London Crime Lords, the Gay Twins, attention.

Lydon, once more not only rose to the challenge but further escalated it when one night in early 1953, after downing thirty seven pints of Guinness and a small glass of Sherry, he brutally stabbed to death one of the twins network of spies, a blind beggar by the name of George ‘where’s me dog’ Kinell.

 It is then rumoured that Paddy tried to cover his tracks by burning the blind spy’s body. However the smell of Kinell’s burning body made Lydon hungry so he nipped home to cook himself a hamburger and while he was away the fire on Kinell’s body went out.

On Paddy’s return, he was annoyed to find Kinell’s corpse burned but still identifiable. To make matters worse for the Irishman, he found that he’d left his matches by the cooker at home. Pissed off, Paddy sat down beside the body to contemplate his next move but because of the large amount of alcohol he’d drunk, the hapless Irishman promptly fell asleep. When he finally awoke it was daylight and far too risky to chance relighting Kinell.

At this stage the Gay twins merely thought that Lydon was holding Kinell as a hostage and as such sent out a warning message demanding his immediate release.

Once the threatening message had reached Paddy’s ears he is reported to have gone berserk and sent a reply along the lines of “Feck them, and feck Kinell”.

Obviously this negative response went down like the Titanic with the twins who immediately declared an all out war. This snippet of news immediately cheered up Lydon who proceeded to go on the offensive by ordering Frank ‘I’m fookin mad me dornt cha knor’ Frazer, to dump Kinell’s charred remains on the doorstep of ‘Fort Knox’, the nickname given to the Gay twins headquarters.

Lydons initial intention in getting Frazer to do this had been to send the twins a message that he wasn’t frightened of them and that they could go and “get ti feck” as far as he was concerned.

However while Frazer was out on this task, Paddy had a better idea and it’s rumoured that this new brain wave of Paddy’s involved him ringing Dixon of Dock Green, the Metropolitan Police’s golden boy and informing him that the Gay twins had killed George Kinell and left his remains on their doorstep as a warning to children never to play with matches.

Whether Paddy did actually break the gangland code of not grassing, will never be known for certain, for as the Irishman says in his memoirs: “Feck knows, yer man was bladered on dat there Sherry, so i was, t’be sher. I couldn’t remember my own name that night,  let alone ringing the polis”.

What is certain however is that less than ten minutes after Frazer had dumped Kinell’s body on the Gay boy’s doorstep, a special division of the serious Crime Squad, specially formed in order to put a stop to the Gay’s backdoor activities, swooped on Fort Knox.

Chief superintendent Kenneth ‘Kipper’ Reed, who was given the nickname ‘Kipper’ because of the wide ties he was fond of wearing and not as was widely rumoured because he smelt of fish – which indeed he did – headed the swoop. He then proceeded to arrest the twins, who were then remanded in custody for the murder of George ‘where the fuck has that mutt got to’ Kinell.

At their trial in the number one court at the Old Bailey on January 2nd 1954, the twins – in order to maintain respect from their fellow gangsters – were forced to stick rigidly to the underworld’s code of conduct. This unwritten code decrees that on arrest the accused should: deny everything, know fuck all about fuck all and never under any circumstances whatsoever ‘grass’ on anyone.

You see, Lydon had [correctly] guessed that the twins would stick steadfast to the code when – and if – he made the incriminating phone call to Dixon. So, with the Gays unable or unwilling to put up any credible defence, it was no surprise when the Jury returned a unanimous guilty verdict.

The presiding trial Judge, the Right Horrible Justice Milford Haven was merciless in handing down the twin’s sentences, giving them both life with the recommendation that they both serve a minimum term of no less than 30 years.

The twins, both rampant homosexuals, were delighted with the sentence and were full of smiles as they were taken down to the cells with Milford Haven’s words still ringing in their ears: “In my view, society has earned a rest from your backdoor activities. I’m not going to waste words on you. Fuck off.”

And so, without question, Lydon was now the undisputed ‘King of the Underworld’ and along with his unpredictable, extremely violent right hand man, Frank ‘I hear voices’ Frazer, he now ruled over London’s many criminal gangs with a rod of iron.

It was then, in the latter part of 1956, that Paddy decided to face the two hardest challenges of his life – the first of which was learning how to read and write and the second being how to wear ‘narmal feckin shoes’, as opposed to his trademark bright green wellington boots. Paddy, to his credit, eventually mastered his first goal but alas, despite a superhuman effort, never managed to get out of wearing wellies.

In 1957, Paddy was named 7th in the UK’s new year rich list, which he’d achieved thanks in part to his firm having the monopoly on scrap and waste management in the South of England. That’s not to mention the dozen or so armed robberies and a touch on the ‘Gee Gees’.

Furthermore, not yet aged 30, the Irishman was named as the 2nd most eligible Bachelor in Britain by the respected, high society magazine, ‘Cuntry Boy’. Indeed he would of been 1st  had he not been narrowly beaten by Princess Margaret’s former beau, Squadron leader Michael Townshend, the divorced father of ‘The Whos’ guitarist, Pete.

Yet despite these accolades, nobody was more surprised than Paddy Lydon when in February 1957 he opened his morning post to find an invite to a social function at Buckingham Palace.

However, despite attending this upper class cocktail party immaculately dressed in a tuxedo and brand new green wellingtons, Paddy found himself standing alone, feeling extremely self conscious – due to him having a pimple on his cheek.

Nevertheless, it didn’t take long for him to catch the eye of ‘Sloan-Ranger’ and number one ‘it’ girl, Lady Felicity Smythe. Indeed, Paddy may well have been a hard nosed businessman, top mobster and semi retired I.R.A or U.D.A…I.C.F…A.B.C…M.G.B or one of the other terrorist groups, top dog, but when it came down to affairs of the heart he was more naive than most and definitely no match for the renown man-eater ‘Flick’ Smythe. And so it was, Lady Felicity, intrigued by the tough looking gangsters’ rough edge, cast her fishing line in Lydon’s direction and quickly reeled him in.

A lifelong friend of England’s young queen, Flick had been brought up in the lap of luxury and didn’t know the meaning of ‘no you can’t have’. And with that being the case, despite her parents disapproval and Paddy’s protestations that she should “get ti feck ya proddy bitch” the pair were married in August 1957 in what the press described as ‘the wedding of the year’.

 The actual event took place in the church on the Queen’s Sandringham Estate followed by a reception at St James’s Palace. The Guest list included no less than eight members of the Royal family and countless stars of the stage and screen.

The official wedding photographer was none other than the Queen’s cousin, Lord Patrick Sheffield, but only after first beating ‘Society Snapper’ Bill Bailey at nude wrestling to achieve the honour.

Interestingly enough, it was this nude wrestling match that was supposedly the film director, Ken Russell’s, inspiration for the nude fight scene in his 1969 screen adaptation of the D.H Lawrence novel, ‘Lady Shatley’s Bit On The Side’…or it may of been ‘Women in Love’. Either way it was one or the other of the soft porn novels that the old pervert, Lawrence wrote and managed to get a film deal for.

In June of the following year, Flick Smythe Lydon gave birth to her and Paddy’s only legitimate child, their son Jonathan. Paddy was delighted when his son and heir came into the world and being a good Catholic, the new father couldn’t wait to start trying for their second child.

You see, it had been a long standing dream of the Irishman that he would have a large family so as one day his sons and daughters could all work side by side running the business Empire he had started.

However life can be cruel and as fate would have it, Lady Flick couldn’t have any more children. Or as she so quaintly put it to her friend, the Queen Elizabeth: “Fuck that for a game of soldiers Lizzie. I couldn’t have another sprog, it fucking hurts. My poor fanny looked like a baboon’s arse by the time the little sod had been born”.

And so it was that Paddy had more or less resigned himself to the fact that he would only ever have the one child. But as fate would have it, that proved not to be the case for the Smythe Lydons.

You see, the story goes that in May of 1959, Lydon took his wife and son on holiday to Scotland, where he had ‘taken’ a cottage to spend a quiet week with his family, away from the hustle and bustle of the criminal world. On this occasion the word ‘Taken’ is used in the literal sense because Paddy had ‘taken’ the said cottage by force.

His captives, the cottages owners who included a middle aged man, his wife and teenage son were forced at gunpoint into the back bedroom where they were tied up and left for the week. However to give Paddy his due, before vacating the premises he un-tied the family and apologised for any inconvenience he or his family may have caused them.

Now, on the last day of the vacation, Paddy had left his wife cooking breakfast while he made the ten minute walk into a nearby village to buy a newspaper. Being quite early, the shops had only just opened and there wasn’t a soul to be seen, except for a young woman buying some chops in the butchers next door to the newsagents.

Parked by the paper shop door was an unattended pram containing a crying baby boy. Paddy peered into the newsagents window where he could clearly see the place was empty except for Donald McPatel, the shopkeeper. It therefore didn’t take the Irishman long to come to the only conclusion he could see possible, namely that the child in the pram had been abandoned.

Paddy quickly seized upon this unexpected opportunity and took the baby back to the cottage, much to the delight of Lady Flick and her baboon bum shaped fanny.

He then enthusiastically told his wife the harrowing details of how he’d found the abandoned child alone outside the paper shop. How he’d looked inside only to find the shop empty except for the proprietor. Finally he said that since there was no one else milling around except for the Butcher and his young lady customer, he had no choice but to bring the poor mite back to the cottage.

Swelling with pride he boasted that the majority of people would not have realised that the tot had been abandoned and ended the sorry tale by saying “and to think they call us Irish tick t’be sher, t’be sher”.

Naturally, the Lydon’s were not about to turn the baby over to the authorities and thus condemn the child to life in an orphanage. This left them with the problem of how to explain the child away to everyone back in London; no easy task for such a prominent, high profile couple as themselves.

The cover story they came up with to get over this tricky problem was that Flicks 2nd cousin, Lady Grace Fishers from Inverness in Scotland had died giving birth to the ‘wee mite’. It had been Paddy’s idea to give this fictitious cousin the surname Fishers – coined from the name of their holiday cottage, The Fishers.

Furthermore, with Grace’s fictitious husband, Cleft Fishers, dying shortly before having her pregnancy confirmed, the baby’s only other fictitious, living blood relative was Cleft’s brother, King.

And since King Fishers had spent the last five years locked up in the Montrose and District Asylum – known locally as M.A.D Ass – under the delusion that he was a bird, the onus fell on the Lydons to raise the wee Bairn.

Their cover story maintained that In order for the ‘wee mite’ to retain his sense of identity, Paddy and Flick had elected to keep the child’s surname as Fishers while choosing Sydney Grace for his first and second names – Sydney having been Paddy’s mothers name and Grace, the baby’s…ahem…mothers name.

As toddlers, the siblings, Jon Lydon and Syd Fishers, appeared to bond like glue. Indeed Syd never lost his love for glue, right up until the day he died. However as the two boys grew, Jonathan began to dominate Sydney to such an extent that by the time they’d turned fifteen, the tall, outspoken Jonathan, and the short, shy Sydney shared more of a master/servant type relationship than that of brothers… At least that’s how it appeared on the surface. For anyone who got to know the siblings properly will testify that this master/servant relationship only existed due to Syd indulging Jon, who in reality was quite afraid of his younger brother…

And there are 90,000 more words to get through in the book which is set in the mid 1970’s. The story is very, very rude, very, very funny and extremely politically incorrect… In fact no subject is taboo or off limits.

But don’t let that put you off:

I will also point out that both Melrose Books & Pegasus Books offered me a publishing contract for “Never Mind The Sex Pistols” and the two – as yet unreleased – follow up books.

Unfortunately, both contracts were derisory and I turned them both down although I am still waiting to hear back from a couple more… In the event, I won’t hold my breath as the Establishment will never allow me to have success or raise my profile. To do so would be disastrous for them.

However, if you think that I am talking bollox, take a look at Melrose Books “Summary Report” of Never Mind The Sex Pistols…

Now, going by that you have to wonder why they put forward such a shite contract?

Nevertheless, by you buying the book HERE I can still enjoy some very much needed income… You really do get great value for money.

Thank you in advance.

Chris.