Gerry Agar - Paula, Michael and Bob: Everything You Know Is Wrong

First published in Great Britain in 2003 by

Michael OMara Books Limited

9 Lion Yard
Tremadoc Road

London SW4 7NQ

This electronic edition published in 2014

ISBN: 978-1-78243-315-6 in ebook format

ISBN: 978-1-84317-156-0 in paperback print format

ISBN: 978-1-84317-024-2 in hardback print format

Copyright Gerry Agar 2003, 2005, 2014

Every reasonable effort has been made to acknowledge all copyright holders. Any errors or omissions that may have occurred are inadvertent, and anyone with any copyright queries is invited to write to the publishers, so that a full acknowledgement may be included in subsequent editions of this work.

All rights reserved. You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Cover images Paula: ITV/REX, Bob and Michael: Michael Putland/Getty Images

Interior design and typesetting by Martin Bristow

www.mombooks.com

The unexamined life is not worth living.

SOCRATES

It is to you, David Fennell, that I dedicate this book. The unsung hero who has worked tirelessly with me, without complaint, on every word, sentence, paragraph, of this book. Thank you for the light you have brought into my life, the peace into my heart and the harmony into our home. An incredible father to our two children, and loving stepfather, who has turned hurt into hope, mistrust into joy. You are indeed an amazing man, loved by all your friends, cherished by all your brothers and the pride and joy of your parents: but I think youll agree youre going to have to work on your memory (Where are the bloody keys?).

Tom, Sophie, Millie Loveday, Louis my beloved children, thanks for all your patience.

Katerina, Aiden, Claudia, Alexander, Harry my very special godchildren.

Michael OMara my Wizard of Oz. Thank you for granting my wish and sending this book home.

To the denizens of the Principality of OMara Rhian McKay, Helen Cumberbatch, Glen Saville, Ron Callow at Design 23, Judith Palmer May the great Oz grant you the massive pay increases, large bowls of ice-cream and three months holiday a year that you all deserve.

Gabrielle Mander and Karen Dolan my new e-mail pen pals and editors most extraordinaire.

Among the many unmentioned friends and family who offered or would have helped at a moments notice, the following were asked and came through with great generosity, giving time, emotional or material support without a second thought and without whom you would not be reading this now:

Mary Anne, Helen, Donna, Ken and Rosie, Simon and Amanda whose daily vigil of unconditional love and support kept me going in the darkest moments.

Michael and Felicity Fennell For all your love, support, kindness, help, generosity, forgiveness, understanding and for the inspired nurture of six sons; your eldest went home to God, but five remain, giving five very lucky girls, myself included, the very best of men.

Andrew and Christine Fennell May your boat forever float and your tax account forever bloat.

Sue Morris Aunt Zoo, thank you for staying involved

Becky Morris for support and encouragement

Mary Rafter you are loved

Liz Maxwell keep up the good fight, sister

Sandra Buchanan who knocked on the door until I awoke. I am forever indebted

Mia my Polish mother, who put my heart back together

Suzi Streeter for working tirelessly to mend bridges far and beyond the call of duty

Nick Agar without whom I would not have taken this journey

Alice Maclaine a spoonful of sugar

Nigel Curtis we have all been together before and no doubt it was just as fulfilling

The heroes of the day are the personalities who parade their professional and private lives across our TVs, newspapers and magazines. For a decade there was something indefinable about Paula Yates that caught the public imagination and held our attention even when she walked to the shops. In person her magnetism was palpable, her personality dazzling and her intellect unparalleled. When she met Michael Hutchence they were caught in the spotlight, and we were gripped by the plot turns of their volatile romance.

A fatal chemistry took them to the very extremes of human experience. While they seemed to inhabit a world of glamour, their insecurities were not so very different from the challenges facing every one of us. At first it seemed that the trappings of success would protect them from discomfort, instead it magnified their pain. It seems so easy to pop a harmless little pill, take a little drink and find all the problems melt away for a few blissful hours. But pill by pill, drop by drop, this solution became the problem in a vicious circle of ever-increasing complication and dosage. The symptoms of addiction escalated and they both descended into their own personal hells. But so might any one of us, in the same circumstances, from the same beginningsyet their ends were as inevitable as the many alternative choices they might have made. Help is just a phone call away, in the right friend, the right counsellor or the right support group.

This is a story writ large, that plays out every day, in every town, in every country. The pressures of our technological, shiftless world seem to drive an ever-increasing number into the welcoming jaws of alcohol and chemical dependence. While we might feel helpless in the clutches of our chosen addictions, an industry of professionals reach out, only streets away, to help us beat the odds. There are no quick fixes recovery is a lifetimes endeavour but the effort is repaid tenfold. Paula and Michael did not find their way home, but perhaps they have not died in vain, if this book communicates where the easy road can lead if we dont heed the call.

G ERRY A GAR ,

A UGUST 2003

I N S EPTEMBER 1992 T OM , my first-born, was to start school. He was enrolled at Newton Prep, a school in Battersea, southwest London, which prided itself on an elite and gifted intake. But it was not with pride that I made the journey to deliver my angelic little three-year-old to his first ever day at school and his first ever day away from me.

As I took in the coloured bricks and tissue-paper-montage of my sons new classroom, I was pleasantly surprised to see another mother whom I recognized immediately: Paula Yates, with two of her children, Peaches and Pixie. As she bent to give Peaches a hug she pulled a theatrical, but nonetheless heartfelt, face that perfectly expressed the comic pathos of the room, and glanced in my direction. We had barely seen or spoken to one another in over ten years, so I wasnt particularly surprised when she detached almost instantly from our momentary connection and returned to the hugging of little arms around her neck.

Paula Yates and I first met in 1981, while I was on a night out with Jim Henson of The Muppets fame, for whose Henson Enterprises I then worked. I had seen her on previous occasions on the gig circuit but it would hardly have been cool to sidle up to this ultra-hip peroxide blonde and announce how I really enjoyed her column in