While visiting my uncle Gerry the other day, I met an old family friend who is quite well off now due to successful art career. He lived in the states for a decade or so working for DC comics and has works in the MoMA in New York. One of my earliest childhood memories is watching this guy draw proper pictures with his toes :: We'll call him 'Mick' on the off chance Scott is reading. But, to the point. Knowing that Im a big boxing fan he told me that Scott Harisson had moved in next door to him a couple of years ago. He said firstly that the guy NEVER left his house and was basically a stone cold recluse who he never saw once in the whole 6 months or so he was there, beyond noticing that his car would occasionally move. He wouldn't even answer the door to the postman. So basically Mick was getting a stockpile of this guy's packages and after a month or so of this he bit the bullet & went round to hand them in. He saw two cars were in the driveway so he was pretty sure Scott was in. Rang the bell - nothing. Again, nothing. 3rd time, saw the curtains twitch and kept ringing 'til Scott stuck his head out the door with the chain lock still on. Mick says he must of been hiding from somebody, whether the press or, um, something else, was acting furtive as fuck and was absolutely HAMMERED. 'Whizzit?' 'Hi I live next door Scott, I've got your mail here'. Opens the door wide, beams and starts hugging him, thanking him for bringing it, insisting he come in and say hello. Weirdly OTT after everything leading to it. Mick tried to get away but Harisson was basically insistent. In he goes. First he said there was no furniture in the entire house, this a good few months of him living there consistently. The carpets were apparently a mess of fag burns and lager stains and there were weeks old bin bags filled with lager cans everywhere from parties. He gets to the living room and Scott has 3 drinking companions. One has a patchwork of slash marks all down his face, apparently at least 5. Another has the whole left side of his face missing including his eye ball and Mick recognizes him straight away as one of 'The Licencee' Tam McGraw's more famous henchmen who had fairly recently been shot in the face at close range with a shot gun. So that was Scott Harisson's house apparently. :dunno: Fairly revealing keyhole glimpse, I thought.
:: I don't know. Somebody who's freakish facial disfigurement wasn't worth describing, presumably. He said there were 3 I felt a duty to describe this gripping tale faithfully.
Is Harrison still at that address??? It would be fun to knick-knack his door all night. Eventually he would come out and somebody would have to go some hard rounds with him. He is going to end up like Paul Sykes, with Cirrhosis of the liver.
