This article previously appeared in The Magazine Supplement of The Sunday Times (London)
I travelled all the way to a province in the little-known country of France in order to meet and chat with, pop legend, LydiE.
This would be the first time since her infamous appearance in New York she would give an interview.
I arrived at her large rambling chateau in a taxi hired from the air strip I had illegally landed at in a light aircraft owned and operated by new friend Biggles.
The driver said; “N’y allez pas. Vous ne reviendrez peut-être jamais”.
I don’t speak French so replied: “Je suis désolé de vous informer, mon cher, que je ne peux pas parler un mot de français, donc ce que vous m’avez dit n’a pas été compris du tout.”
I was greeted at the door by LydiE. Looking as beautiful and magnificent as ever. I couldn’t help but notice she was wearing nothing but a delightful smile.
Her life now is devoted to creating art. A lot of art.
I followed her into her lounge as she said to me: “My dear Lord Sywwow, will you please help me with my art project. It is so important to my heart. I had a vision”.
Well, I’m up for anything so readily agreed.
I was instructed to take all my clothes off. I thought this was a bit odd but this sort of thing happens to me all the time.
I had barely finished undressing – I still had my left sock on – before she pounced on me and commenced having sexual intercourse with my penis which was most co-operative.
I’ve hung around with artists such as Hockney and Banksy, this was not the sort of thing they get up to when I pop ‘round.
After a very enjoyable experience, for me and my penis, she then commenced oral activity – involving both parties (me and her).
Little did I know this was a mere preamble to the weekend’s activities.
Never in the field of human shagging has so much been done by the few (me) to the many (her).
There are limits. Eventually I could perform in this artistic statement no more. She produced a blue diamond-shaped vitamin pill. I took it and, soon thereafter, it kicked in. (I had several of these during my visit. They are really rather good).
I lost all track of time.
At one point I said to her: “I must go plop plop”. It sounded convincing even though I was lying.
Once in the safety of the little boy’s room I phoned BarbarElla: “You’ve got to help me…”
“You’d better not be at my mother’s”.
“Of course not, why would I be at your mothers?”, I said sounding like a lying bastard. “I’ve never even been to France”, I added.
“She said you were coming to see her and she was going to fuck you senseless because she’s had one of her visons”, the lovely but angry BarbarElla said – out of pure jealousy if you ask me.
At this point, LydiE was climbing through the bathroom window saying something about me being a lying twat and trying to ‘avoid her love’.
“That sounds like my mother”, said BarbarElla, who shouldn’t have been listening to a private ranting.
“It’s the dog”, I said. My fatigue had robbed me of my well-known lying skills.
I ended the call by pressing the little red handset icon.
Taking full advantage of the location, LydiE proceeded to do all the things reserved for the bathroom. Yes, all of those things. Yes, including that one (twice).
She was indignant when I did those very same things to her. (Twice).
This marked a pause to the art.
I took the opportunity of getting my big instrument out and showing it to her and letting her stroke it. Oddly, she licked it and kissed it. We then sang a duet together. This is the first time she’s cut a track since that dreadful single with Robbie Williams.
I sound dreadful because I’d been fucked senseless.
Whilst I had my microphone grasped in my hand, I commenced the interview with the intention of asking why she’d quit the music industry, her feud with BarbarElla, all that stuff about the Rolling Stones etcetera etcetera etcetera.
That didn’t last long. She grabbed my microphone and put it somewhere it was never designed to go. (I hastily unplugged it from the reel-to-reel tape machine I use. NEVER put electrical things in there).
The art project had resumed and lasted until I managed to escape on Monday morning.
Since returning and spending several days under medical supervision I phoned the sex mad loon.
She is willing to talk with me and will mend the feud with her daughter and do anything else I want of her on the proviso I return to her loving embrace and thrash the fuck out of her arse. (She, clearly, knows who I am now)
I have agreed to these demands.
The things I do for Art.
The Banksy hosted exhibition “LydiE” will be at the Tate Modern 14th July for 21 days.
Since this article appeared I have received an email from BarbarElla: she wants to see me – LydiE, it would appear, has had another “vision”.
Text, (C) 2020, Lord Sywwow; Art (C) 2019/20 LydiE used with permission