A VERSE LETTER TO PETE DOHERTY

Pete Doherty makes his fans tidy his house. The singer asks admirers who gather outside his London home if they would do odd jobs for him. The singer has said he always knew he wanted to be a star – because he was always attracted to excitement.

When fame falls away and all that remains
is addiction, depression and a mural of stains
what better way to remodel your life and house
than by getting a fan to become your spouse?

You could start off quite slowly by inviting her in
to clear away needles and bottles of gin.
And whilst you lie supine on the stinky settee
why not encourage her to make you some tea?

Perhaps you’ll even persuade her to run to the shops
to buy biscuits and bacon and tinfoil and chops
then some more tinfoil, then a sugary snack
and then a quick run to buy you some smack.

This should leave you the time to get really fucked up
as you try to drink deeply of fame’s emptying cup
and talk yet more nonsense to the national press.
It’s a shame that your talent is so badly depressed.

And, what is worse, your ego’s inflated
far beyond the capacity of the songs you created.
You risk keeling over under its weight
and will probably become all that you once used to hate.

So come on, get married to the first girl who agrees
She might straighten you out. You might get a reprise.
Love, at its worst, is a joyous escape
better by far than your constant self-rape.

Plus, a marriage of this sort will ensure notoriety
so much more than a sudden conversion to piety.
Fame is so fleeting, so take second best
and you might be remembered when they put you to rest.