Mercury and me pdf download

Freddie had been at the cocaine again and by New York New York he had caught his second wind. As soon as I had had a few drinks and became a bit merry, I grabbed him and recklessly headed off to the dance floor. That night Freddie made a great fuss of me and showed me off to his friends. I was surprised to discover that I lapped it all up.

Doors had been opened for me to a completely new world. Despite the late night, I woke up early on the Saturday morning and left Freddie sleeping. I went into the kitchen, made myself a cup of coffee and gazed out of the bedroom window. Eventually the flat started to stir. Freddie got up in the middle of the morning and Joe went out to buy some provisions. For the first time on that trip Freddie and I were together, alone.

We cuddled on the sofa, talking about anything which came into our heads. Before we knew it, the day had flown by. After supper, we ventured out to the pubs and clubs. We laughed and danced all night before falling back into bed.

The next day, Sunday, I had to leave for London at the end of the afternoon. I was very sorry to say goodbye to Freddie. I simply carried on with the haircuts ahead of me, happy inside to have found Freddie. I wrote to thank him for the wonderful weekend and included a picture of a big ginger tom cat called Spock I used to have.

I was thrilled when Freddie rang during the week. The next weekend I was back on my own in London. On Saturday night I headed back to the Market Tavern for a few beers. Gardening has always been a joy for me and I could dig and prune all day. The next time I saw Freddie was when he invited me to watch the making of the video for that very song at a studio in the East End of London. In the video, two Dutch dancers were doing a sultry bar-room routine of a Frenchman and his sexy partner.

Late into the evening disaster struck. The Frenchman threw his girl across the stage but she slipped and smashed her head. Freddie stopped everything and took her to hospital, where he waited in the corridor while she was examined.

The following Friday an air ticket was again waiting to fly me to Munich for the weekend and, very nearly, my first fight with Freddie. This time I declined his generous offer of a chauffeur to drive me to Heathrow. It all seemed a bit daft: he had to drive from West London to the West End then back out to Heathrow. I got the Tube instead.

Again I was flying first-class. Joe said he had some long-standing engagement. Freddie had made it home by then and, I thought, was sound asleep. I quietly undressed, got into bed and cuddled up. He remained silent all night. Finally, Freddie broke the ice and apologised for not having been at the airport when I arrived. I was just part of a game between lovers. He wanted to flaunt me so that his boyfriend would see or hear of me and be jealous. Freddie had managed it all very successfully.

There I caught a glimpse of the opposition. He was quite different from me in many ways. Although this guy, called Winnie Kirkenberger, was fairly plump — perhaps because he owned a restaurant — and like me he had dark hair and moustache, unlike me he looked very aggressive. Whenever Winnie appeared Freddie made a big fuss of me, while the dark German shot me piercing glances.

But, as we got into bed, I decided to say nothing. The next day, Sunday, we pottered around the flat, cuddling on the sofa and watching telly.

Then I flew home and, over the next fortnight, wrote to Freddie a number of times. He was now a large part of my life. The next weekend Freddie came back to London and introduced me for the first time to Mary Austin, a petite woman with shoulder-length fair hair, blue eyes and a fair complexion.

Mary was reserved but very welcoming when we met. Mary lived and worked about a hundred yards away in a flat owned either by Freddie or by his company. The following weekend, now well into a routine, I flew to Germany. A car met me and when I got to the flat Freddie was waiting to greet me. Perhaps I was a little naive. I hoped the two of them were just tying up the loose ends of their failed love affair.

When we came out of the shop it happened. As we were crossing the main street, Freddie leaped up into my arms. He smothered me in wet kisses, and I was so embarrassed that I dropped him and ran off. He made a few more runs at me before he left me alone. We went back to the flat and Freddie was desperate to jump into bed for sex.

His drive was amazing. Then we flaked out on the sofa, watching television. It was something we did an awful lot in our time together alone. On the sofa Freddie and I usually sat side by side. He adored that. We rarely drank anything stronger than water or tea in the daytime, though we quickly made amends each evening. Freddie loved old black-and-white movies and the early Technicolor classics — stuff from the Bette Davis era.

In fact, the band had to seek permission from Groucho Marx to use the titles. I would be very happy for you to call your next one after my latest film, The Greatest Hits of the Rolling Stones! It was gloriously sunny and we strolled for about twenty minutes — about half a mile — until we came to a gate in a long wall. Freddie unlocked it and led us through into a magical secret garden. Garden Lodge, 1 Logan Place, is a large Georgian house set inside a large, mature English garden behind high brick walls.

He had gutted it, totally renovating and redecorating it just the way he wanted. That Sunday the last of the builders and decorators were about to move out; the place was almost ready for Freddie to move into.

The front door of Garden Lodge leads into a large, light hallway with an elegant wide staircase. To the left and right, double doors lead to two spectacularly spacious rooms, parquet-floored with expansive windows gazing out over the garden.

Behind this room were the kitchen and dining room. Upstairs, several rooms had been knocked into one to give Freddie a large master bedroom suite. From the landing you first entered a dressing room with a large plaster dome. On either side was a bathroom, each finished in Italian marble with gold fittings.

The room on the left, decorated in veined white, grey and pink marble, boasted a jacuzzi bath big enough for three. The sleek bathroom on the right was decorated in black panels.

Ahead were the large sliding double doors, which always remained open, leading to the bedroom. The walls were in a pinkish cream colour moire — water-marked fabric. Straight ahead were large windows opening on to a long balcony, and to the right a window which looked straight on to the garden. The jewel of the house was undoubtedly the garden, which made the house totally private.

We spent most of that first visit outside, sitting on a small mound, soaking up the sun and larking around. But at that time, however beautiful the London house, Freddie still thought of Germany as his main home. Freddie would work on Queen albums in both London and Munich, and it was during one of what were to be many sessions that I met the members of the band for the first time: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor and bassist John Deacon.

They were immediately very friendly and struck me as down-to-earth. Brian was very intellectual and meticulous about his music. But it was John Deacon I took to most. He was the silent member of the group — remarkably modest, quiet and unassuming.

He pointed it out and I ambled over. When I opened the door, Freddie was very jumpy. Then he flew into a rage, insisting that security had to be made much tighter. When he calmed down, he told me why he was so jittery.

He had been caught by the police and put behind bars, but the incident had upset Freddie enormously. The morning of the video shoot Freddie learned that the man had escaped from prison; his girlfriend had alerted the police that her man was out, armed, dangerous and probably looking for Freddie Mercury.

The police were taking the threat so seriously that they had sealed off both entrances to his house in Stafford Terrace. After a while the drama passed; the poor man was caught by the police and put back in prison where he belonged.

They said they wanted to make sure Freddie was feeling all right after his ordeal, and they stayed and joked for a while.

And Freddie joked back. He pointed to a little antique Japanese lacquered box. She wanted it to be as late as possible, which was 5. I would always allow clients to be ten minutes late, but when, at 5.

And that was the only conversation we had. The next Saturday, 13 July , was a sweltering hot day — set to be a very special day for Freddie and me. After finishing work at the Savoy I made my way to his flat. The place was buzzing. Freddie was in party mood. Everyone was absorbed in watching Live Aid on television. Help yourself. I was on my way to see Queen perform live on stage for the very first time. We arrived at Wembley with about an hour to spare.

I was agog. Each member of the band had his own dressing room trailer and all three wives were there — Chrissy May, Dominique Taylor and Veronica Deacon, as well as the May and Taylor children.

To be behind the scenes at Wembley that day was incredible: the atmosphere was electric. He went to get ready. Queen would be appearing after David Bowie, who was on stage now. Freddie was going on in what he was wearing — jeans, white vest, studded amulet and belt.

When David Bowie came off and headed into his own trailer, Freddie whisked after him, taking me with him. David was strange. He was sitting wet through in front of an electric fan, trying to dry his hair.

They laughed. Very strange. When it was time for Queen to go on, I walked with Freddie to the stage and, watching from the wings, witnessed the most magical twenty minutes of my life. At last I had seen the real Freddie Mercury at work, whipping seventy thousand people into a frenzy.

He gave everything to his performance; nothing else mattered to him. When he came off, he rushed to his trailer and I tottered behind like a puppy. Adrenalin still overflowing, Freddie knocked back a large vodka to calm himself. Then his face lit up. Everyone backstage was converging on Freddie, Brian, Roger and John. We sat around drinking, mulling over all the performances. He was dumbfounded. The next morning Live Aid seemed an age away to Freddie, but not to me.

When I got to the Savoy on Monday morning it was still bursting out of my ears. I was soon back in the old routine. Every two weeks I would fly to Munich and be met at the airport. Its best claim to fame was that Giorgio Moroder had written and recorded most of his greatest disco hits there.

Freddie took me to the control room and introduced me to Reinhold Mack, his German producer. He was a tall, thin man in his late thirties — he looked like an ageing hippy and had shoulder-length hair. Freddie sat me down and disappeared to carry on recording.

In the studio Freddie had a one-track mind — work, work and more work. I watched him through the glass, but he rarely glanced my way because he was so totally absorbed in his work.

He chain-smoked or, rather, chain-lit Silk Cuts, and to boost his energy and adrenalin he slipped down slugs of Russian vodka. He only drank Stolichnaya. He had to keep on the go; it was part of his life blood.

He was always in total control. At the end of a session I might mention that I liked this or that about a song, but I never knew if he took any notice of what I thought.

Freddie worked until about eleven that night before calling it a day. We set off to a club in the Bermuda Triangle before heading home. Next day Freddie wanted to go back into the studio to work.

Some weekends Freddie would beaver away alone; often he would work with Brian, Roger and John. When the other members of Queen were in Munich to record, they would stay in a hotel. In the studio, the boys liked to have their own teams around them to do odd chores, like making tea or coffee. In one corner of the studio there was an exercise bike which was in use from time to time whenever the going got slow. After hours working on the same track, the band developed a way of diffusing the tension of their work: they swapped the real lyrics for funnier send-up lines.

Those off-the-record versions of Queen hits were always hysterically funny, and the whole studio would erupt in laughter. The band is big enough. Fried Chicken! Whenever Freddie came back to London he stayed at Garden Lodge. One weekend there in August we talked about what kind of party he should stage for his thirty-ninth birthday, on 5 September.

I suggested that he should have a black-and-white party and he seemed to like the idea. Typically, Freddie transformed it into an outrageous and amazing event, a black-and-white drag ball. Then he had it redecorated and refurbished throughout in black and white and decorated with hundreds of black and white roses.

Even the seats were re-covered in black and white. On the day of the party a load of us were flown in from London, including Phoebe, Mary, some of the Queen office workers and Daily Express showbusiness writer David Wigg. David and Queen had known each other for over ten years: he was one of the few writers whom Freddie felt he could trust.

Going through British customs there was a bit of a hold-up. We flew British Airways. As the only one travelling business-class, I had free drinks and better food than the others.

Mary suggested that I steal a bottle of wine from business-class and pass it back to them. I did nothing of the sort. It would have been too tacky. By the time Mary and I arrived there was a houseful of guests. I was too embarrassed to give Freddie his lucky clover in front of everyone, so I called him into the bedroom. When he opened it up he was thrilled. He kissed me then ran into the sitting room with it.

Freddie seemed delighted with it because he knew I had given him something from the heart. At about ten, Freddie and I set off for the party in the limousine. And of course he wore the bullet braces which had caused the trouble at the airport. Everyone was dressed in black and white or drag that night — except me. I was in a multi-coloured sequined jacket with tails, borrowed from a former dancer friend.

As I was wearing black trousers I argued that I could get away with it — and I did. Some of the costumes were ingenious. Brian May came as a witch; David Wigg wore a fetching frock; Phoebe went as a gypsy; and even Richard Young, a paparazzi photographer, was dragged up to the nines.

Reinhold Mack was there with his wife, Ingrid, and so was Steve Strange as well as a number of record company bosses.

Film cameras slipped among us constantly, catching the magic. I became quite adept at slipping into the shadows at the first sign of a lens. During the evening Freddie was presented with an enormous birthday cake in the shape of a grand piano. It was so large that each of the three hundred guests got a slice. Some hours into the party Joe came to me looking worried. I found him in the middle of the room, looking totally exhausted.

By the time I arrived the drama was over. Freddie wanted me to help him calm down, so I put my arms around him and hugged him. All there was to drink that night was champagne, champagne and more champagne. Drugs were going around and someone had slipped him some kind of drugs cocktail. He was quite shattered by the experience.

After a while Freddie felt fine again. We partied on into the night and even went on to the dance floor. It was a night to remember, and we finally crashed into bed at six in the morning. While most of us took the day slowly, the following morning Freddie went back to the club with the video crew and some darling German drag queens, slender stunners, to film more footage of his outrageous video.

He felt he had been taken for a ride. When the video came out, to my amazement I was included for a brief moment, dancing alone with my shirt off. Freddie was so meticulous about the editing of his videos that he must have insisted I should be included.

By those happy days the relationship between Freddie and me had deepened. I came to miss him when we were apart; I became upset. And Freddie felt the same way about me. Then one weekend in London he started talking about living our lives together.

If I move to Germany I must have a job. Freddie let the matter drop. I was never in any doubt that it was he who engineered the love affair between us. It happened like this. We headed to the bar, then strolled towards the pool table. Suddenly Freddie turned and stared at me. I was very surprised. So I did. I fucked off. I turned on my heel and made for the door. On the way out I passed Gary, who sensed that all was not well. I got home, went to bed and fell asleep.

At four in the morning I was woken by a furious Ivy Taverner banging on my bedroom door. I was at least as stubborn as Freddie and had no intention of calling him the next morning. When he did ring, a few days later, I blew him out. Far from it; the fatal late night phone calls were about to start. For the next few weeks he took to phoning most nights at three or four in the morning. When Freddie came back to London I told him I was being evicted. He wanted to come back to London and take up residence at Garden Lodge.

For the time being he planned to keep his flat in Stafford Terrace and move things across to the house slowly over several months. When I arrived at Garden Lodge, we were not quite alone, Phoebe was already living there, with the cats Tiffany and Oscar.

I packed a few bags at Sutton and was just setting off when Mary asked me to call on her. She told me Freddie was snowed in in Munich; he would not be joining me quite so soon. Then she handed me a note that Freddie had written a week or two earlier to deliver to me. Tons of love F. Freddie arrived the following weekend and immediately dragged me off to bed.

He said he had missed me terribly; I knew he meant it. After he had picked out wardrobes for me to use in the dressing area, he cleared all his things from one of his drawers.

We lived together for the next six years like man and wife. Just like the concert, this was a glittering affair with celebrities by the score. His partner was the actress Jane Seymour. She was modelling a sensational white wedding dress, also designed by the Emanuels.

The after-show party was held at the Hyde Park Hotel: Freddie and Jane arrived in their outfits and brought the foyer to a standstill. The place was packed with American tourists who thought the couple were for real. Jane was a big Hollywood name and they recognised her at once. Like any other couple, Freddie and I got around to the question of the housekeeping money. It represented over half my weekly wage although Freddie never knew that.

But I paid it willingly; it went some way to keeping our relationship on a fair footing but later he dropped the idea.

Both were tall, big Austrians. Rudi wore more colourful clothes than his partner, but they were equally jovial and friendly. The relationship between Freddie Mercury and Jim Hutton evolved over several months in and Even when they first slept together Hutton had no idea who Mercury was, and when the star told him his name it meant nothing to him. Hutton worked as a barber at the Savoy Hotel and retained his job and his lodgings in Sutton, Surrey, for two years after moving in with Mercury, and then worked as his gardener.

He was never fully assimilated into Mercury's jet-setting lifestyle, nor did he want to be, but from until Mercury's death in he was closer to him than anyone and knew all Mercury's closest friends: the other members of Queen, Elton John, David Bowie and Phil Collins to name a few. I still love listening their music, but I was near-obsessed with them from about thirteen to nineteen. Federal juvenile delinquency-related activities -- coordination and information dissemination are lacking.

The book brought me into his private world, allowed me to hear his thoughts and dreams, and gave me a view of this incredibly complex man that I would have never seen. His biography, Mercury and Me, reveals intimate moments between him and the lead singer of Queen.

The relationship between Freddie Mercury and Jim Hutton evolved over several months in and Even when they first slept together Hutton had no idea who Mercury was, and when the star told him his name it meant nothing to him. The relationship between Freddie Mercury and Jim Hutton evolved over several months in and Button had no idea who Mercury was, and when the star told him his name it meant nothing to worked as a barber at the Savoy Hotel and retained his job and his lodgings in Sutton, Surrey, for two years after moving in with Mercury, and then worked as his gardener.

And how one note can bring them all flooding back. With its new introduction by Jim Hutton's co-writer Tim Wapshott, only the Kindle-exclusive edition of 'Mercury and Me' is the updated story of rock's oddest couple. Large Print edition also available. New new release and also others category Books, Magazines and Comics added daily! Enjoy free Mercury and Me eBooks Including entire books and preview chapters from leading authors. Read the very best reviews from our individuals.

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