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Some famous guy confesses sex addiction
The word "orgy" is undeniably an evocative one. It conjures up sumptuous images of delicate muslin drapes being teased by a breeze, Turkish music playing everywhere (in fact my whole orgy scenario seems to have been lifted pretty much wholesale from a Turkish Delight advert), nubile Nubian women entwined about each other like a Henry Moore statue, people decadently devouring grapes. I thought there'd probably be a sort of Swiss bloke with no irises or pupils in his eyes as well, just kind of staring. But what I got in a tower block in Hackney was people who looked like they were made out of Ready Brek, swathed in clingfilm, waddling back and forth with towels about their waists. And everywhere there was this intangible sadness, as if the orgy was being directed by Mike Leigh. I remember this woman came bustling out of a doorway when I first got there - she reminded me of my mum, which didn't help - and said, "Just done my second . . . better go and rinse my mouth out." Then a washing-machine repair man turned up - not as a guest, but to repair the washing-machine. The accounts of sex addiction rehab are equally depressing. Makes you wonder why anyone bothers having sex at all.
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Russell Brand is apparently famous in Britain, as the Guardian is running excerpts from his "shockingly frank autobiography". The first excerpt deals with