Esquire, Apr 2014
What I’ve Learned: The bat munching rocker on blackouts, marriage and Paul McCartney.
[Also at Esquire]
I work out a lot. I love it, a bit of cardio. But I’m too old to be lifting fucking weights. Only weight I lift is getting myself out of bed in the morning.
Soon as I stop going to meetings, my head goes to me: “go on Ozzy, you can have one fucking drink.” It’s like sticking your head in a beehive and saying, “you’ll only get stung once.”
I believe in destiny. Your life is planned out for you. I had my tarot cards done once and the guy was so fucking close, I’ve never had them done again – I might hear something I don’t want to hear.
I’ve got no recollection of snorting those ants, but it beats throwing eggs like Mr Fucking Beiber. We wouldn’t have stopped at eggs in my day. I heard he pissed in a bucket in some restaurant. So what? I pissed up the Alamo, which is a national shrine. In a woman’s dress. At seven in the morning, with a bottle of Courvoisier in one hand, and my dick in the other.
There’s so many different sexual fucking things – homosexual, heterosexual, lesbian-sexual. It gets confusing. Just shows you how much shit went on under the fucking radar back in the day. That’s a lot of secrets and lies.
When I came off my ATV bike, my heart stopped twice on the way to the hospital, but I didn’t have one of those out of body experiences. I don’t believe in all that. I think heaven and hell is right here. When we die, I think your spirit just goes up into a big pool of energy in the universe. So there’s a power greater than myself, but that could be anything – the ocean, the sky, electricity. I don’t mean God sitting on a cloud with angels giving him blowjobs every five minutes.
I’m searching for the twat that wrote “and they both lived happily ever after”. He must have been smoking some very strong weed at the time.
Best gift I ever had wasn’t some Bentley or whatever, it was from my father, when he was working in a factory. He borrowed some money and bought me a microphone, and if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here now. I was so ego-ridden and drugged out when he was alive, I never really thanked him for it.
My earliest feeling of emotion was fear. I was always so afraid as a kid. I was so worried, I was worried that I didn’t have anything to worry about. So when I discovered alcohol it gave me that Dutch courage I think I needed.
Paul McCartney’s like Jesus Christ for me. You ever seen him perform? It’s fucking remarkable. How many great songs has one guy written in his life?
On my tombstone, I’d like it to say “Do Not Disturb”.
I know a thing or two about blackouts. I woke up one day in Amersham jail and I didn’t have a fucking clue what I did. So I asked the policeman, “listen, I know this sounds crazy, but what am I here for?” He goes, “attempted murder.” I was like – “you’re fucking joking! Who was the victim?” He goes, “your wife.” And you’d think that would stop anybody, but five minutes later I was pissed again.
With marriage, you’ve just got to stick it out. You can’t jump off the boat in the first bump in the waves.
There wasn’t any adjustment coming to America. The adjustment is in going back to England, because it keeps changing. Bosnian refugees on every corner in London, with babies strapped to their chests. What the fuck is all this? I love England, but it’s not the England I used to know.
Believe me if I was still drinking, you certainly wouldn’t be sitting there with a smile on your face. I’m like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
I always thought that having loads of money would mean a happy life. But once you’ve bought all the things you want, and you’re still not content in the world, you have to do a bit of soul searching, and ask “why am I feeling this emptiness inside?”
I always think that people hate me – nobody likes me in the music business.
My drug of choice was anything. Yours and mine. And it was great fun in the beginning. But then I crossed that invisible line.
You can’t say “black coffee” anymore apparently. It’s coffee without milk. My daughter’s the one who tells me this stuff. It’s fucking crazy.
It’s amazing what you can do when you’re sleepwalking. I tackled this burglar in England when I was half asleep, and I was going, “am I dreaming this, or is this really happening?” I’m stark bollock naked, and I’ve put him in a headlock and he’s looking at me, tinkle in his eye. I thought “I hope he ain’t fucking gay, I’ll lose more than my jewels.”
Sex isn’t the priority anymore, now I’m 65. But it still goes on. I want it and she doesn’t, same as ever.
You’ve got to have something to retire to. Something you always wanted to do but your job prevented it. But what I do’s not a job. I don’t get up and go to a fucking factory every morning. What’d make me retire is if I woke up and said, ‘if I have to sing Paranoid one more time, I’ll go fucking mental.’
I’m an insomniac so I take pills, but I have to be careful otherwise they get a bit too yummy. One for me, and three for me, you know.
One thing I’ve never ever done is read someone else’s email or anything. Sooner or later, you’re going to read something you don’t want to read – like your wife’s got some terminal illness she’s hiding from you.
Them fucking cameraphones are a pain in the balls aren’t they? You go out and someone says, can I have one photo. And then everyone wants one. So I stay in my room. I like to be quiet you know – I’ve had a pretty loud existence for a lot of years.