In October 2018, I, Mr Moan, writing for Mr and Mrs 50 Plus, revealed all in an article about Robert Maxwell’s death:
Robert Maxwell’s Death, Tony’s Monday Moan
Except I didn’t ………..
Recently, as I was waiting to meet with my probation officer, (I was pleading for the electronic tag to be removed from my ankle), I had a Damascene moment. After being ejected from the police station I sat in the graveyard and planned my campaign. I sent flowers to Editor Kathryn followed by a hand-written letter telling her of my admiration for the way she oversees events at Mr and Mrs. I hinted that I had more to reveal. Ed Kathryn proved to be putty in my hands: a swift reply announced that Mr Moan was very popular (ha!) and she wanted him to contribute again to her pages. This is what she wrote on 12 January 2022:
“Would you be interested in writing about your take on the whole Ghislaine/Prince Andrew/Epstein ‘thing’?”
An Orange Suit?
Putting this another way:
How would you like to wear an orange suit and manacles and spend some time in an American prison?
BUT! Editor Kathryn is smart. She knew that despite personal bankruptcy, several failed marriages and a period of incarceration (I thought that the PPE worked) Mr Moan is basically an honest, moral person. So, readers of MrandMrs50Plus, I will tell you about me and Ghislaine Maxwell.
My Office in Finsbury Square
On my first day as Managing Director of Waterlow Publishers, I was sitting in my office on the fourth floor of Maxwell House, in Worship Street, off Finsbury Square in Central London when a large, pot-bellied bloke burst in.
“Want to know yur odds?” he asked, wiping his nose with an exaggerated movement of the sleeve of his overalls: I noticed that he had ‘Billy’ tattooed on his knuckles.
“What odds?” I asked.
“You not lasting three months,” was the retort.
“Billy,” I said, “Mr Maxwell has chosen me personally for this job.”
“Mate, that’s what they all say.”
Billy persuaded me to have ten pounds on myself and then my phone rang. The Chairman wanted me immediately. Running up the stairs to the tenth floor I was ushered into a massive office where Captain Bob was sitting behind an enormous desk waiting to welcome me into my new position. I stood to attention.
“Mr Drury,” he boomed. “What is the unit cost of production of Financial Weekly?”
As I had no idea that Waterlow Publishers was responsible for this publication, I hesitated.
“Mr Drury,” he yelled, “I publish one hundred and forty-three titles and I know the unit cost of production of all of them. You are responsible for one and you don’t know even the basic information. Get out.”
This is Ghislaine
As I slunk back to my office, I wondered about speaking to Billy and changing my bet.
Two days later I was wandering through the work stations of the one hundred and thirty staff who I employed when a manager came up. He pointed at a desk where a rather sultry, dark-haired woman was working.
“Ghislaine,” he whispered before running off in another direction. It was the daughter of the chairman who had completed her time at Oxford University and was now learning the role of book editor. I introduced myself: she looked up, smiled, stood up and took my hand. It was a completely intoxicating experience. I muttered something pathetic about her not hesitating to come to my office if I could help her in any way.
“Mr Drury,” she said. “You’ll be my first port of call.”
Back to Bob
I returned to my desk, shaking. The phone rang. The chairman wanted to see me. I ran up the stairs repeating, ‘£1.17 is the unit cost of production of ‘Financial Weekly’.
“Mr Drury,” roared Captain Bob.
“Er, one pound…” I stuttered.
“You never interrupt me, Mr Drury,” he instructed. “Where’s your list? I expected it on my desk this morning.”
I managed to ask entirely the wrong question.
“Er, what list, Chairman?” I pleaded.
“Your top three competitors so that I can decide which one to buy,” he said. “You need to smarten up your act, Mr Drury. I am not impressed.”
I crawled back to my office, sat down and realised that I had a visitor.
“Mr Drury,” said Ghislaine, “There is something you can help me with.”
Fans of Mr Moan will know that Robert Maxwell sacked me and life went in another direction. In my time with Captain Bob, I made friends with his two sons, Ian and Kevin, and occasionally spoke with Ghislaine. Fast forward nearly forty years and virtually no day passes without news items and articles about Ghislaine Maxwell, Jeffrey Epstein and Prince Andrew. What is my take on the whole thing?
Sex-Drive, Power and Wealth
It is now accepted that Mr Moan, along with Aristotle, Sigmund Freud and Piers Morgan, is one of the greatest thinkers in the modern world. After meditational concentration I have concluded that we need to join together three topics: sex drive, power and wealth.
From the earliest beginnings of life, sex has been about reproduction without which the animal kingdom would not have survived. Eventually the human form developed and added to the procuration function a gratification element.
This has led to the farcical situation whereby today’s adult has two sexual faces. Here is an example:
In 2011 E.L James published the ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ trilogy eventually selling over one hundred million copies. It divided opinion. At that time, I was working in London in corporate finance and early one evening found myself with a group of professionals celebrating the closure of a deal. A lawyer named Naomi was one. Somebody started making crass comments about ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ and Naomi exploded.
“Don’t you dare mention that pornography in my presence,” she ordered. “My husband and I are determined that our two children are not exposed to anything degrading.”
She impressed her audience! Some of the men even decided that Naomi’s husband was a lucky man. I was less influenced by her outburst because, purely by chance, I knew that every two weeks on a Thursday Naomi spent the night with a pal of mine (who was in a ‘free’ marriage) in an expensive London hotel. He told me that she taught him things he had never experienced before. Naomi had two faces when it came to sex. The image she felt she should exhibit in public and her horizontal athletics in the privacy of her lover’s bed.
The American pornographic industry is blatant, massive and generates annually $12 billion in revenues. There are virtually no controls on access to pornography on the internet. Individual sex drive is rampant.
President John F Kennedy displayed the two faces as exampled by Naomi. He projected the image of a family man. He also stated privately that he needed sex every day and employed two secretaries known by the security services as ‘Fiddle’ and ‘Faddle’ who went everywhere with him and provided the required recreation.
Jeffrey Epstein’s sex drive would thus appear to be quite normal. Where he departed from more usual practices was, allegedly, his willingness to provide sexual outlets for his powerful guests and the more worrying incidences of underage sex. Epstein also had incredible wealth which gave him access to the country’s inner circle (Bill Clinton, Donald Trump to name but two) and gave him the third element: power.
Epstein worked with Robert Maxwell and it was through her father that Ghislaine met him. After Captain Bob’s death in 1991, when he threw himself off his boat, the ‘Lady Ghislaine’, when anchored off the Canary Islands, Ghislaine was heart-broken and settled in New York in order to rebuild her life: she reconnected with Epstein and they became lovers. The rest of the story is in the public domain.
Ghislaine is Guilty
Ghislaine is guilty of sex trafficking offences and her sentence awaits. Epstein is dead in mysterious circumstances (officially ‘suicide’).
One view is that while the majority of their activities were obscene and provoked genuine repulsion, only the underage element of the sex trafficking events was illegal enough to provoke the authorities and, even then, it took many years before they acted. But once the situation became better known more and more girls came forward: were they brave individuals seeking the truth and retribution or were some gold-diggers? Perhaps several of each.
Mr Moan is a trained psychologist and sexologist having completed a seven-day learning course published by the former Health Secretary the Right Honourable Matt Hancock MP (and friend). I can reveal the truth about ‘Randy-Andy’ aka Prince Andrew. I can sum it up in the famous truism: ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’.
Mr Moan has seen through Virginia Louise Roberts Giuffre and her US based ‘Victims Refuse Silence’ charity. In September 2002 Miss Roberts (then 19) flew to Thailand to attend the International Training Massage School, a visit organised by Ghislaine Maxwell. This is where she met her future husband, Robert Giuffre. The oft reproduced photograph supposedly taken in Ghislaine’s London flat (possibly by Epstein?) where Prince Andrew has his hand around her body suggests to some, apparently, that Miss Roberts was rather enjoying the moment.
(Editor Kathryn, on the other hand, sees a young girl who has been groomed and taken advantage of, by significantly older, richer and more powerful people!)
Word to the Wise
In a personal letter to his then Royal Highness Mr Moan wrote as follows:
Your honour, Sir, I, Mr Moan am the greatest PR adviser to celebrities. You have your tactics wrong. Instead of saying you can’t remember Virginia Roberts, be honest and announce it was the best sex you have ever had but you apologise to her Majesty the Queen. Ok, Sir, Fergie will be upset but who cares? You will have neutralised Mrs Giuffre. I enclose my invoice.
The monarchy has all three elements: sex-drive, power and wealth. The one royalist who seems to understand the real threat to its future is Prince Charles who talks about a much smaller presence when he becomes king. He is, of course, under threat from the UK’s prime minister. Boris Johnson, it is publicly stated, has fathered seven children from three women and how he survived the investigation into his dalliance with technology entrepreneur Jennifer Arcuri, whose bulging flesh seduced the London Mayor, defies explanation.
The PM also adds to sex-drive, power (as PM he controls everything including the billions spent by Government) – forget Rishi, he’s a pawn – and future wealth. If Theresa May can command £50,000 for an after-dinner speech what will Boris earn in the future?
Is there any good to come out of the Epstein/Ghislaine/Prince Andrew story? Probably not. In our modern world sex-drive, power and wealth drive everything.
It is salutary to realise that the only hope the world has to overcome this pollution of standards is to listen and learn from the wisdom offered by Mr Moan. He, unfortunately, is currently stuck in a queue at the Benefits Office trying to explain his claim for two wives and nine children.
(This satirical feature has been written by Tony Drury and does not necessarily represent the opinions of MrandMrs50Plus)