Washed up? Feel like you’ve taken one too many knocks? Can’t see a way forward through the grime?
Not to worry! Simon Cowell is here to provide you with words of wisdom and inspiration. Or rather, he’s here to remind you that he’s brilliant at making money, despite an early blip or two.
Writing in The Daily Mail, Cowell sent a letter to his younger self, in rather a similar missive to the one Stephen Fry sent himself a few months ago. But where Fry’s was a rather moving piece that provided advice to young, gay men too frightened to come out, Cowell’s appears to be nothing more than a slap on his own hairy back. And what timing! Just as The X Factor steers towards the voting segment of its run – ie the bit where the cash starts rolling in – here’s the great man himself advising Cowell Jnr that huge riches are just around the corner. Worry not, young Simon! Apart from having to hang out with Louis Walsh, your future is secure.
I’ve provided the edited highlights below, just in case you:
a.) understandably don’t want to provide The Mail’s website with any traffic or
b.) simply can’t be arsed to trawl through his words.
Read on, and take note!
I know exactly how you are feeling….
It is the early Nineties and you are frustrated, exhausted and worried sick. Life at this moment is not great. Yet just a few years ago, you felt like you were the king of the world!…
However, your dazzling reign turned out to be rather short-lived, to say the least. The record label you co-owned went bust and you lost everything – the big house, the car, everything.
You are lucky in some ways because at least you’ve managed to get yourself another job, running a small label within a company called BMG. However, you have gone from being your own boss to being back on the payroll again.
And what I can see now is that you are a circle inside a square. You stick out in that workplace like a very sore thumb.
Luckily you trusted your own instincts. Robson and Jerome’s version of Unchained Melody will give you your first No1 and become one of the bestselling singles of all time.
At the moment, Simon, I am afraid, you must continue to suffer.
I wish I could tell you not to worry so much. I wish I could let you know that everything is going to turn out fine. In fact, Simon, you have absolutely no idea of just how fine it is going to be.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t just the Robson and Jerome hit record that turned the tide for you at BMG. It was something the new chairman, a wonderful guy called Richard Griffiths, told you. ‘Simon,’ he said, ‘don’t ever blame anyone else if things go wrong. You’re in charge, so it’s your fault.’
It may sound an obvious bit of advice, but it switches on a big lightbulb in your head. It changes the way you think. Never again will you let yourself feel intimidated by others.
My good advice to you is to take good advice from the right people. The trick, of course, is to know who they are.
I must say, despite everything, I am quite proud of you, Simon.
When you made the Power Rangers video, against all advice, you made it because you liked them. You followed your own instincts.
It is the same today when you judge contestants on The X Factor or Britain’s Got Talent. Never mind what anyone else thinks, do they make you feel happy, good, glad or sad? Have they got what it takes to make it?
You have made a lot of money by listening to what your heart and your head are saying. It took you years, but you got there in the end.
What have you learned? Not to drink Galliano, that’s for sure. Today, on the eve of your 50th birthday, you are much more likely to drink two litres of water a day rather than a gallon of champagne.
You still like to pick up the bill in restaurants and clubs, but the difference is that now you can afford it. You know where your limits are. You have nice things, sure, but you have earned them, both financially and emotionally.
What else has changed? Well, there used to be a big tin on your desk from which you would eat 20 chocolate biscuits a day. Now you snack on fresh fruit and vegetables.
For you never imagined, not in your wildest dreams, that you would become well known all over the world. Your job, Simon, was to make celebrities, not to become one yourself, dear boy.
Underneath it all, Simon, you are a realist. You don’t believe the hype about yourself. You can see what you do well and what you do badly.
People think that you are this Machiavellian character, forever plotting and scheming, someone whose touch turns everything to gold. Your story here shows that this is far from the case and that, on the contrary, you are no stranger to failure.
Next week, you are throwing a fabulous bash to celebrate your 50th birthday. Your great friend, Sir Philip Green, and his wife, Lady Tina, are organising it for you but, contrary to some reports, he is not paying for it. Simon, you would never let anyone pick up that tab. Are you kidding? Old habits die hard.
If you want to read the entire thing, it’s over here. But if you do, I advise you get your head checked.
85 Comments
I agree with him on one point. People who think his touch turns everything to gold are definitely mistaken.
What is the point of writing al etter to your younger self if you do not include the lotto numbers for that week and the football results…and a few racing results as well?
Would it come by royal mail…?
**Checks mail.
Could you email your younger self?
I think I’ll jut leave a note on the fridge!
I just wrote a letter to my older self. I reckon he’s more likely to get it.
Mind you, what with the postal strike…
Underneath it all, Simon, you are a realist.
Underneath it all, Simon, you are a sack of shit.
Quick quesion, is the London Eye visible from Scotland Yard?
‘Question’. I’ve got sausage-fingers.
I’d write a letter to my younger self, then IO’d tell a newspaper about it so that they could further publicize my already successful television projects.
But then I’d be a smug twat then wouldn’t I?
I’d tell myself not to eat that large donner kebab with garlic sauce from the Istanbul in 1999. Gave me the shits for a fucking week, did that.
What Cowell neglects to take on board is the fact that his letter would disrupt the space-time-continuum and thus make 1985 a right nightmare.
You might be right there. Before we knew what’s what, we’d be living in a cyberpunk world ruled by Biff Tannen.
Jesus Christ, so 1985 would change, with Simon becoming rich and corrupt and married to Lorraine Baines-McFly?
But my god this man is a smug c***.
He is only one of two poeple that I have ever applied the c-word to, the other being an awful bully of an ex boss, that liked to tell all his staff they belonged to him. He told me ‘you are mine 24-7, 365′ once. So I pointed out that if that were true, he would need to renumerate me 4 times more than my meagre salary, for which I was expected to give him 40 hours a week, with 5 weeks annual leave plus stautory public holidays.
Simon Cowell looks a bit like a slimmer richer version of him too.
Do you really suppose that Cowell isn’t fully waxed below the neck line though?
I’m writing a letter to a younger Biff Tannen advising him not to hang out with Billy Zane…
oh-I met Simon in a lift once, he’s very wee -and there is a definite hint of bush sticking out of that wrinkled, grey T-Shirt collar. He’s a monkeyman is our Cowell.
Interceptor – I do imagine that he is hairy by nature, but not by salon practices. I especially imagine he gets intimate areas waxed, in the same manner that porn stars do, in order to look bigger.
I should probably spend less time with Simon Cowell hanging around in my imagination.
If I had Simon Cowell’s money, I’d buy a bomber so I could bomb London.
I’ve heard rumours about Simon Cowell that perhaps I should not mention on here…
(Kevin, Newcastle, Public Toilets).
So he allegedly goes cottaging, does he? Doesn’t surprise me. That’s just the sort of thing I expect the likes of Cowell to allegedly get up to, allegedly.
Not cottaging. He bums men in park toilets. I know his chauffer’s mate’s friend.
It doesn’t look THAT much bigger…
Greg – I think what you meant to say there was that he allegedly bums men in public toilets, wasn’t it?
Voice of experience, Nick?
“He is only one of two poeple that I have ever applied the c-word to …”
That’s pretty much the opposite of my experience, Mel.
Also, is there a difference between cottaging and bumming men in park toilets? Allegedly?
This should be made compulsory for everyone of a certain age:
“So you know that young lady you’re stepping out with?Quite keen, even, would you say? Well, whatever you do, don’t marry the money-grabbing bitch, she’ll take you for every penny and wangle the house via that dodgy solicitor you used to think was your best mate from school. Good luck with the meths. And the leg.”
Nappers, so there’s me – who is the other person that you have never applied the C-word to?
I bet he (Cowell) said something like “That is the best bumming experience I’ve ever had”
Has anyone mentioned how blinking brilliant the new Peep Show is?
I bet Cowell would like to have a go on Swineshead’s sausage fingers.
Nick – I agree the new Peep Show series is well up to standard.
I can’t see 4OD nick ;o(
I am serious about the question re the differnece between cottaging and public toilet sex, BTW. I thought they were one and the same thing. Can anyone enlighten me, please thankyou?
Mel – My mother, of course.
Fourstar – I’d also add that, should you become beguiled with a young lady when you are both teenagers, be advised that, in certain circumstances, that sweet sweet ass and those fantastic tits will turn into a collection of dimpled, flaccid sacks filled with lumpy mashed potato and broken spanners.
Oh, and her dad was a bastard as well.
I am not shitting you but one of the ‘resting’ actors that works here has just said to a colleague (another ‘resting’ actor) ‘when I was a student I wrote Peter’s Friends, the musical,’ with a certain degree of pride.
Has anyone any jobs going?
Peter’s Friends – The Musical?
That could well be the most Middle Class thing on Earth.
Peter Rabbit?
It wasn’t ‘middle class’ that sprang to mind, NC, more along the lines of what Mel was talking about
Cottaging? But Stephen Fr…………….ah.
It springs to my mind, Piqued. Having had the misfortune of seeing the cripplingly Middle Class monstrosity that is Peter’s Friends, I can only assume a musical (the opera of the Middle Classes) gleaned from its stifling loins would be Middle Class to the MAXXXX.
No! To the MAXXXXXXXXXXXX.
Mel – I am not an expert, but is perhaps the cottaging the thing with the hole in the wall?
Hole in the wall! Oh my goodness, I’ve just got that.
I have a teeny hope that Simon is right now sitting in a room, with his two litres of water and fruit and vegetables, thinking about how he spends his days surrounded by young idiotic children warbling 400 notes where only one should reside, thinking about when he could scoff biscuits all day and nobody took the piss out of his trousers, and shedding one solitary tear.
I thought that was a ‘glory hole’. Although I imagine you could have a glory hole in a cottage. They’d probably call it a third bedroom and stick £10k on the price.
*as opposed to old idiotic children. Duh.
I used to really like Peter’s Friends when I was a teenager. I used to quite fancy Kenneth Branagh in it. Me and my friends would gllefully shout “fill me with your little babies!” at each other and fall about laughing. I think that might make me a bad person. Certainly makes me a lot more middle-class than I thought.
NC, I’ve always seen musicals as rather downmarket. Put it this way, the sorts of people I see queuing for Les Miserables or We Will Rock You wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between foie gras and a hernia.
Cottaging is generally a heterosexual activity, I believe. And happens out in’t country? I am not, I’m afriad, a cottagologist.
If I could send a letter to my younger self, it would contain intricate instructions for ruining the life of Simon Cowell.
Seriously,
“You are [...] running a small label within a company called BMG … At the moment, Simon, I am afraid, you must continue to suffer.”
Does the man not know what the word ’suffering’ means? Perhaps we should teach him?
‘Cottaging is generally a heterosexual activity, I believe. And happens out in’t country? I am not, I’m afriad, a cottagologist.’
Bang wrong. The word ‘cottage’ is slang for a public lav as they used to look like little cottages (the one in Soho Square is the epitome of this.)
‘Cottaging,’ therefore alludes to cruising for homosexual sex. Like bumming.
I know this isn’t a gigs board, but one of you WWMers might be interested in this:
@WirelessTheatre we are in need of a good compere/host for our live show on Oct 8th at The Headliners Comedy Club – any takers? (big audience expected!)
I hope Piers Morgan and Toby Young follow suit and issue similarly humble missives.
This two litres of water thing… Frankly, it’s balderdash. (Can I use that word on here?) You need up to 2 litres of fluid every day, much of which will be contained in food. As long as your wee’s not too brown, you’re okay.
+++Not an expert+++
The main thing I remember about Peter’s Friends was wondering how Tony Slattery had ever got anywhere.
My piss looked like Guiness this morning.
Guinness? Yes, that’s it.
Pilchard – Piqued’ll do that gig if you promise him three litres of white cider. He’s a drunkard, y’see?
‘This two litres of water thing… Frankly, it’s balderdash’
pass a kidney stone then see how you feel about it
Dammit, this has brought back memories of Piqued’s pissing story from the podcast. Just when I thought I’d finally erased it from my mind.
Naps, did your piss have a nice head on it? And a shamrock?
I’ve compared Pilch but I’d guess we’re talking The Londin eh?
I can honestly say I’ve never tasted white cider, this is probably more of an age thing I hasten to add. When I was a kid white cider was all just fields (and Steinbock 8.5% for 59p)
Thanks for that Pilch!
The rambling Canadian bought it up also in his cast of pod.
Nick, I don’t know where it is, but since they don’t say, that normally means London, yes. It’s a wonderfully simple system that’s recognised throughout the universe: all places are in London, unless otherwise stated.
Yes. P7, I’d rather forget it too. Evian?
I don’t think I’ve ever had white cider either. White spirit, yes – “over” ice.
I shall be bottling my home made cider this weekend..
Signs are that it should be around the 7% mark
The podcast is creating all kinds of mental problems for me. Not only do I keep singing the diarrheoa song, but I’m now trying to find excuses for using the word “condone”, just so that I can replace it with “ladder”.
London on a Thursday night it’s a bit too far for me.
Unless you have Skype?
I could do it on Skype!
Is that drugs?
Yes, yes it is.
“Don’t believe the Skype”
Pilchard – My Guinness piss had a nice frothy head on it, but no shamrock. AND I didn’t have to wait three minutes for my piss to settle before I could finish pissing.
Aaaah … remember the days before an advertising executive in London persuaded idiots that Guinness can’t be poured like all other draft beers? I wonder if he’s the same fella responsible for turning trampagne into a popular Summer drink called ‘Magners’?
Jesus, I’d forgotten Tony Slattery was in it. Bad ’90s memories of him slathered in coke-sweat on Whose Line Is It Anyway. I quite fancied him as well. Right nympho I seem to have been in my youth.
I too have trouble with the diarrhoea song. I caught myself singing it out loud at work the other day; I was deep into the third line before I realised. It was an actual living record-scratch-fx-colleagues-gape-open-mouthed moment.
I’d like to apologise to anyone who has The Dirrhoea Song stuck in their heads. I’d like to, only I’ve got this diarrhoea …
That’s right – dirrhoea.
I presume piqued was not being serious about public loos resembling cottages. The bulding in soho square is the cover for the ventilation shaft of an electricity transformer station. It has never been a public loo.
By the way, Argos are doing five of them energy-saving light bulbs for £1. And they’re Phillips ones too.
Is that Soho Square in Birmingham, DINLT? If so, I don’t recall an electricity transformer shaped like a public toilet at all.
They’re shit Naps. All the old ones are. That’s why I spend my evenings in perpetual darkness.Bastards….
DINLT I’m now singing “Transformer, cottage in disguise”
Nick – Shit they may be, but at one British pound for five, you can sit in semi-darkness knowing you’ve at least saved y’self some money.
I suppose being AC/DC comes from bi’s meeting at electrical transformers. Wouldn’t want to take a leak on one though!
The bloody things last forever too!
*squints”
I have mentioned this before but, CORDON TO GUEST HOST BUZZCOCKS!!!
It says they last for ten years on the box. I’ve videoed m’self installing one this afternoon, and I’ll be damn sure to sue Phillips for every penny they’ve got should the thing stop working before a decade has passed.
sorry all, I was out buying a cottage loaf. Cottaging refers specifically to two young gents entering a public convenience with a plastic carrier bag. Gent A sits upon the convenience with the bag between his feet. Gent B stands in bag and gets sucked off. If a bored officer of the law happens to look under the door, all he sees is someone having a crap with their shopping bag between their legs, thus saving Simon Cowell from any alleged embarrasment. Allegedly.
a glory hole is when you stick your cock through the wall.
I’m like Miriam Stoppard me, I should have my own, disgusting column.
Look what you’ve gone and done, Interceptor. You’ve spoiled the party with your willy talk.
Cowell wouldn’t be cottaging, he’d be more mansioning….
Good God, is that power rangers bit for real?
It reminds me of Alan Partridge for sure. It might as well say “Needless to say Simon, you will have the last laugh”
He’s a talentless, self obsessed cunt.
He’s flooded the media with an even more banal, low brow, meaningless tirade of shite that makes little n’ large, cannon n’ ball and nearly all of the “light” entertainment of the 80’s look positively talented.
Also, did I mention that he’s a cunt?
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