The Max Clifford trial. Well, at least he's getting one, and it's mostly nonsense, as might be expected. Seems to be mostly about penis size and obscure Wimpy bars at the moment, while the usual crew of dodgy claimants contradict each other's testimony.
Max, a heavy pitchman since the 60s, has been accused of inappropriate behavior back in the day. One of his accusers says she was 14 at the time - she is now 62, and frankly should know better than to involve herself in this rubbish. She alleges that Max picked her up in a Wimpy Bar in Morden (of all places) in 1966, lured her to his car with promises that he would arrange for her to meet the Walker Brothers, and after showing her photographs of himself with the Rolling Stones and The Beatles, flung himself on her and, allegedly wielding a penis the size of a peanut, violated her. In your dreams.
A doctor has been called to testify as to the size of Max's penis, which is apparently normal. Nice to know. (Photo: The Walker Brothers - Gary, Scott and John.)
Max must've had a hell of a lot of spare time on his hands if he had nothing better to do than hang around some poky little Wimpy bar for hours on end, drinking coffee. If you're going to do that, why not a Wimpy in the West End? Morden?? Come on, dearie.
I worked in public relations in the music business in Los Angeles in the 70s and into the 80s, with firms representing bands like the Stones and Led Zeppelin. We had a goodly amount of very powerful male public relations heavies here who, like Max, were gatekeepers to the music and movie stars some girls wanted to climb all over. Max knew that game well. He was a star in his own right, he didn't need the pickings of others. He had adult relationships with his female peers, and he lived the good life. Inexperienced and very young outsiders were of no interest to the big-time players, who figuratively ran the casino and didn't mingle with the punters.
Raised in Surrey, I also worked in the music business in the UK in London, before moving to Los Angeles in 1969. I knew some interesting people, heard all the latest scandals and gossip, hot from the allnight newsboys. I was also friendly with Gary Leeds of the Walker Brothers; a decent guy, from Pasadena, here in California. He was a roommate of Graham Nash's, right before the CSN days. Known to his friends as "Beeds." I also knew Scott.
I mention this because the Walkers, among Max's other very successful clients, would not have tolerated risky behavior from their representatives. That, at the very least, would expose them to legal problems. In those days rock musicians were under extreme police scrutiny; a known association with a employee who was perhaps indulging in "jailbait" would simply have to go. But, as with Jimmy Savile, there were no rumors or allegations to be heard.
So, let's stroll past the Wimpy Bar issue. Big problem with that fantasy is that Max didn't own a car in the 60s. Easy to prove that, as he would have had to do all the paperwork concerned with car ownership. Most of us didn't own cars in those days, as public transport has always been one of the better features of British life, and if Max was in London, he was using taxis in all likelihood. He's said that the only reason he would have been in Morden at all is if he had fallen asleep while traveling on the Northern Line, and that he doesn't like Wimpy food. Me neither. And if he'd fallen asleep, surely he would have stayed on the platform, waiting for a train taking him back from whence he came. None of this makes the slightest sense.
It's also noteworthy that after Jimmy Savile died and was then accused via the infamous Exposure! show, Max, who had a long professional association with Top of the Pops, was approached by a gaggle of female opportunists, waving photographs of themselves with Jimmy Savile, demanding that Max validate their claims against Jimmy for molestation.
This egregious behavior follows the same pattern as Jimmy Tarbuck, who was also approached by a group of women, looking to enrich themselves at the expense of the Savile Trusts. Does anyone see a pattern here?
When Max quite reasonably said he couldn't corroborate their evidence, and would not get involved further, he was then arrested and here we are. Up to our hip-boots in more of the usual, as we go trippingly down Compensation Street.