Christopher England -v- Radio Caroline

This is all about Christopher England, so it’ll be a fantastic read.

Handsome, plus the voice (and looks) of a god.

There is quite a lot of speculation from disgruntled and extremely upset radio anoraks about how or indeed why Mr England’s previously legendary decades long anti-Radio Caroline stance appears to have at the very least ceased, or at most, suddenly radically changed by 360 degrees.

The appearance of articles from Radio Caroline’s Peter Moore onto England’s England have fueled much gossip and wild conclusions from the more mentally ill anoraks (in fairness, I do need to assert that not absolutely every radio anorak is mentally ill), and so I felt that it’s now time to come clean and set the record straight. Finally we put an end to all the tittle tattle and jibber jabber with the facts.

To understand the relationship between Peter Moore and Christopher England you have to go back very many years, but firstly I do have to deny a few of the more popular recurring rumours.

Moore and England are not to their knowledge actually related. True, there was a slight scare in the 1970s that Moore might have turned out to be England’s father. However, I have to categorically state that, albeit that this was before DNA testing was available, let alone available for free via the Jeremy Kyle Show, the episode of reckless abandon turned out to not be with England’s mother but somebody considerably her junior in a nurse’s uniform (England’s mother only had maid’s outfits). But, hey, these were the 1970s when one could make sexist comments about nurses’ uniforms. And nurses. F’woarrr! Nurses, bloody hell. Anyway, the conclusion was that England was just a bastard, not a bastard son to Moore.

Secondly, they were not lovers. I mean, how sick would that be? Taking your father as your lover?! Erm, oh yes, one is not the other’s father, of course, so that idea holds no merit. Forget I mentioned it.

No, the original bonding between these two handsome yet rugged men came after Moore discovered England on the roof of one of his businesses peering into an adjacent Nurses’ Home. Electing not to report him to the police, Moore thought he could teach England the error of his ways. That’s the error of England’s ways, of course, not the error of Moore’s ways, which were not in error at any time ever. There are elements of how this worked, if indeed it did work, that cannot be revealed. Ok, it didn’t work.

England rejected Moore’s path of righteousness. “How dare this long haired hippy try to foist his liberal views upon me!” mused England as he waddled off into the dark side. From that moment forward, England vowed to be bloody annoying. Indeed, he succeeded in being bloody annoying and continues to this very day.

Like all good demons (check the Bible), England was quite rightly cast out into the wilderness. He remained in the wilderness for many a decade, casting evil spells and luring the innocent onto the wrong path in order to continue being bloody annoying.

Then one day, in recent times, something rather uncanny happened to change everything. A common bond reunited the two sworn enemies. However, exactly what this might be can only be left to speculation for now, although it might include the growing contempt both felt for the really stupid radio anoraks who had become progressively more stupid as each year passed by. True, it might also be something completely different, like an interest in nurse’s uniforms especially when worn by real student nurses. I, of course, shouldn’t be mentioning nurses in this way. They are not bloody fickle sex objects, heck, these aren’t the 1970s don’t you know, dammit.

Well, whatever it is that has facilitated this peroid of calm can probably never be revealed in public. Ok, it was both the contempt for mad anoraks and an interest in boasting to each other about the quantity of nurses each was holding (voluntarily) captive in their basement. (See? Political Correctness gone mad, I had to add the word ‘voluntarily’ there to avoid being arrested. Wouldn’t have had to do that back in the 1970s in Bournemouth, you know.)

Also, for legal reasons, I have to state here that no nurses are being held in either’s basement. They escaped. No, that was a joke, there were none there in the first place, ok? If their respective basements had been full of nurses, which of course they weren’t, the nurses would have been there completely voluntarily, ok?

Anyway, forget the nurses. There are other reasons why both men had to flee London to re-settle in other parts of the country under different names, nothing to do with nurses. More about that another time, the bloody Rossers might be reading.

Where was I? Oh yes, so although both men still look at each other very suspiciously, and could very easily kick-off for another bout of hair-pulling and non-gay wrestling, all for now is still. Very still.

Or is it?

Ding Ding.