John Cooper Clarke and other stuff

Way back in the eighties I was living in Perth with the Catholic girl. We were going to go and see Do-Re-Mi (I think) but somehow ended up at some dive in Northbridge which may or may not be called The Pink Parrott. Appearing at said dive was a chappie called John Cooper Clarke. Mr. Cooper Clarke was, apparently still is, a performance poet. I found myself being entertained anyway. Of course the crowd was full of people who "knew him before he sold out."
He couldn't have got very much, I never heard of him again until I googled him to get the lyrics of a poem called "The day my pub went mad".
The poem doesn't exist. There is, however, a poem entitled "The day my pad went mad."
The former was one of JCC's star pieces on the night in question and is about George Best. I have no idea what the latter is about, but here are the lyrics:

the day my pad went MAD
I'm ankle deep in human waste
the toilet has been clogged
marrowbone jelly all over the place
I don't even have a dog
the man upstairs he grabs my arm
saying don't I know your dad
all I could hear were the fire alarms
the day my pad went MAD

all I could hear were the fire alarms
the day my pad went MAD

The kitchen has been ransacked
ski trails in the hall
a chicken has been ransacked
and thrown against the wall
in walks this dumb waiter
with a fountain pen and pad
saying how do you want this alligator
the day my pad went MAD

saying how do you want this alligator
the day my pad went MAD

The hamster had been slaughtered
the parrot bound and gagged
the guard dog had been sorted out
and absolutely shagged
the goldfish drowned, the cat was found
kicked around and stabbed
the radio did not make a sound
the day my pad went MAD

the radio did not make a sound
the day my pad went MAD

the pop-up toaster refused to pop
the chandelier was smashed
the starter motor would not stop
the tyres had been slashed
there was no way out of there
I was stuck with what I had
out of order, beyond repair
the day my pad went MAD

out of order, beyond repair
the day my pad went MAD

yesterday I had the place rewired
and slung out all of my junk
a tumble dryer and a two bar fire
and a telephone now defunct
I peeped through the venetian blinds
and the rain fell down so sad
on the broken home I left behind
the day my pad went MAD

on the broken home I left behind
the day my pad went MAD

Like I said, the other poem was about George Best, or more specifically, Best's nervous breakdown. For those of you who don't know, Mr Best was quite a handy soccer player back in the day, even though he did play for The Evil Empire (aka Manchester United).* In fact, he was said to be the first celebrity footballer. I don't know (lots of things) if the pressure of a celebrity contributed to his problems but he ended up being a bit of a grog monster. Sacked by Man U. for being a soak, he drifted through a few pom and seppolian clubs before pulling down his sign altogether in 1983. Had a liver transplant in 2000 and got done for DUI in 2004. Now he's done the ultimate pommy sporting bastard trick and got himself arrested for towelling up a woman' Actually, in a less light hearted note (sorry, ladies), while googling for that link, I find that young George has got himself arrested as a tamp. I have nothing amusing to say about this, except that, as in that other celebrity molestation case, I will pass no judgement other than that handed down by the courts.
I have to say though, that I wish that Jackson was found guilty. Any grown man who sleeps with pubescent children (I mean sleep in the literal sense) is not far away from what he was accused of - it is only a matter of time (allegedly). Also, his alleged music is a crime against humanity. Seriously. It's really bad.
*As a side note he scored 6 goals against Northampton Town, bringing to nine the number of English and Scottish clubs I know of that begin and end with the same letter; the others being Alloa, Celtic, Dundee United and Kilmarnock (all Scottish), and Aston Villa, Charlton Athletic, Derby United and Liverpool.