At La Manga, when Hoddle chucked me out of the England team, there had just been a nonsense story in the papers about Shel. As usual, that sent me almost insane, as everyone in the squad could see. It might well have been one of the reasons why Hoddle later said ‘my head was not right’. He knew I was worrying about her.
When I talk to Regan on the phone at home, she’s always in the background, I can hear her. But when he’s at school, and she’s not around, he talks to me a lot. There are no problems. I’ve visited his school and I took a spelling class. I asked the teacher and he said fine. The kids came up and I checked their spelling. All the kids loved it. And so did Regan.
I’m sorry to go on about Shel so much. I just don’t seem to escape, which is why I decided to talk about her, in a way I have never done before. It’s also because I’m still living with the consequences. I haven’t had sex for over a year now. I don’t miss it, not really. I’ve got used to it. For the moment.
I forgot to tell you last time about one romantic interlude. It began in 2000, just after I’d joined Everton. I took Hazy – David Hayes – and another of my old Newcastle friends to Miami for a fishing and drinking holiday.
We were in our hotel one night and I saw this stunning blonde sitting at the bar, on her own. I stared at her for about an hour, without getting any response. I was gutted when this guy appears, obviously her fella.
We then went off to another bar, the Flamingo on South Beach, where I got talking to a girl from Manchester. As I’m talking to her, the stunning blonde I had seen in our hotel suddenly appears – with Hazy’s arm round her. I think fucking hell, how has he managed it? I go over and he says he’s talked her into coming to see me, because I’d said she was so stunning. I chat to her and then we go back to our hotel, where we’re both staying. I have a cigar, she has a cigar, and we both sit there talking in the reception area till about four in the morning.
Then suddenly her bloke appears. He gets out of the lift in his boxer shorts, looking furious. I ask him if he’d like a drink with me and my girlfriend. Just to wind him up. He tells me he’s a lawyer, from somewhere like Philadelphia, down in Miami for an important case, and he has to be up early in the morning. I say, ‘Oh, a lawyer, I could always do with a good lawyer, can I hire you?’ He grabs the girl by the hand and pulls her into the lift. They disappear.
During our chat, I had found out her name was Lina, she was Russian, and I’d got her mobile phone number. Nothing happened between us. I’d not even kissed her, never mind shag her. A year passed. During that time I’d been thinking of her, remembering how stunning she was, what a good chat we had, so one day I decided to ring her. This was after I’d left Burnley – before I went to China. So some time in the spring of 2002.
‘Hi, I’m Paul, we met in Miami’, and after a bit she said, ‘Oh aye, I remember you. You told me you were a footballer. My friend looked you up and she told me you were a bad person.’ I said, ‘Ignore all that, it’s newspaper stuff. I’m a nice guy really.’
Anyway I talked her into seeing me again. It turned out she was returning to Russia. She’d been living with this rich American lawyer for about four years, but was now going back to Moscow.
When I’d first met her, I’d asked her what she was doing with that fat bastard. She said, ‘That’s funny, those are the exact words your friend used.’ She told me the lawyer was a nice guy, and he looked after her well.
Two days later, I booked a plane to Moscow and went off to see Lina. I did have a few drinks on the plane, and was probably a bit noisy and stupid. When I was going through passport control, these two huge guys grabbed hold of me. I thought I’d been reported for causing some sort of commotion on the plane, but the real reason was that I didn’t have a visa for Russia. I hadn’t realised you had to have one.
I was put in jail, a proper jail, but it was inside the airport. I was told I was allowed to make one phone call – one only. Should I ring me dad? Over the years, I’ve usually rung him when I’m in trouble. Or should I ring the British Embassy? See if they can sort out the visa problem. Or should I ring Lina? She was supposed to be meeting me, and she was Russian, could speak to them in their own language.
I was shitting myself, all alone, not knowing what to do. Eventually I decided to ring Lina. I rang her number – and got her mum, who couldn’t speak a word of English. Every time I said ‘Lina’, she said ‘Airport’. I realised she was somewhere at the airport, waiting for me, but not knowing I was in jail.
An hour went by, then two, three, then at four in the morning one of the jailers says, ‘There’s a woman outside for you.’ I ask what kind of woman. They say she’s blonde and Russian. I says it must be Lina.
Lina explains the whole story to them, that it was ignorance that made me not get the visa. They agreed I could spend twenty-four hours in Moscow, but then I must be deported.
We book into a hotel and have a wonderful night together. In the morning, instead of me going off on my own, I suggested to her that she come with me. We could have a romantic holiday together.
So I ring BA, book flights on my credit card, and we go to Miami. We arrive and book into a hotel. We had ten brilliant days together. Very romantic. I gave her flowers, chocolates, everything. It turned out she had been married, to a Russian, but that the marriage had long since finished.
At the end of the ten days, we parted. She went back to Moscow, in tears. I flew to London. We did ring each other for about four months, then it sort of tailed off. I haven’t had any contact with her for over a year now, but I still think about her. She was a stunning girl.
One point about telling you this story is that it was interesting, and upsetting, that she’d looked me up – and found I was a bad lad. When I was in China, I was asked to be the judge for a fashion show. I got the winner’s number and later rang her up, saying it would be nice to have a drink with her. She said her friend had looked me up on the web – and found out I was a bad man. Fucking hell. This was Lanzhou, in the back of beyond in China. What chance have I got?
What happens is that I worry that no nice girls will come near me. I’m a bastard, ain’t I? I’ve said so. Now Shel has said so. Must be true. So who wants to get mixed up with someone with my problems who might beat them up? I know I haven’t harmed anyone, or done anything bad to anyone for almost ten years, and I know I’ll never do so again. But other people don’t know that.
So I imagine that any girl who does come along, makes advances and that, will just be a gold digger, who’ll turn me over, take my money and sell their story. I do seem to have attracted them, especially when I was drunk, which of course doesn’t happen any more. I’m so fucking sober and sensible these days, I’ve been keeping away from all women, whatever their motives. So I haven’t been looking for another relationship.
Now my financial relationship with Shel has been settled, and I don’t have to pay her any more, a huge weight is off my shoulders – financially and emotionally. I can now sit down, see where I’m at, look at what I’ve got left and what I might be earning in the future. This summer I’m planning to buy something, either the flat I’ve rented in Jesmond or a little house. When I’ve settled down domestically, I might then be open to meeting some nice lass. I might come across her anywhere, up in Newcastle in the queue at the fish and chip shop back in Dunston, or in Jesmond.
But there’s one thing that still worries me. It came to me the other day. I said it to Jimmy – and he couldn’t believe it. In fact I’m shitting myself that it might turn out to come true. If Shel were to ring me up tomorrow, when I come out of here, and ask me to come back, you know what, I’d probably say yes. Fucking hell. I’m a daft enough bastard, even now, to be tempted. After all we’ve put each other through. Let’s hope it won’t happen.
Right, I’m not talking about Shel again. That’s it, for ever. By talking like this, at long last, I’ve got her out of my system. And I know she’s better off without me. So good luck to her.
Here’s the
doctor to do some tests. All I’m having now is an injection into my neck. They’re going to put me under, see if they can relieve the pain in the discs. I should be out tomorrow. And then off to Newcastle. Perhaps I might strike lucky in the fish queue …
“The truth is he wanted my full attention and would have been happy to have me without the children. I don’t think it could ever work between us as a couple now. I was always prepared to be his friend but he never wanted that.
Do you regret having met him?
No, because regrets are a waste of energy – and most importantly I have Regan. My time with Paul was a part of my life and I am the person I am now because of what happened.”
Sheryl Gascoigne, interviewed in Hello!, 13 July 2004
APPENDIX 1
CAREER STATISTICS
PAUL GASCOIGNE
Paul John Gascoigne, born Dunston, Gateshead 27 May 1967.
CAREER
Redheugh Boys’ Club, Dunston juniors, trials for Ipswich Town, Middlesbrough, Southampton. Newcastle United schoolboy 1980, apprentice 1983, professional 1985. Transferred to Tottenham Hotspur June 1988 £2.3 million. Transferred to Lazio May 1992 £5.5 million. Transferred to Rangers July 1995 £4.3 million. Transferred to Middlesbrough March 1998 £3.45 million. Free to Everton July 2000. Free to Burnley March 2002. Washington DC (trial) 2002. Free to Gansu Tianma 2003. Wolverhampton Wanderers (reserves) 2003. Non-contract player-coach Boston United July to October 2004.
TOTAL ENGLAND RESULTS: 34 wins, 19 draws, 4 defeats
HONOURS
57 full England caps, 10 goals; 13 Under-21, 5 goals; 4 B, 1 goal. BBC Sports Personality of the Year 1990. Young Player of the Year 1988. Scottish Football Writers and Scottish Professional Footballers Player of the Year 1996.
APPENDIX 2
GAZZA ON THE NET
The Internet is full of stuff about me, a lot of it bollocks, some of it funny, and some of it true. Here are 50 stories currently doing the rounds via websites and e-mail. Which do you think are genuine? Having read this book by now (and paid for it, I hope) you will know roughly what stuff is true – but what about the rest? See here for my comments. And for the real me, check out my own website:
www.paulgascoigne.biz
One hour after playing for England, met ‘showbiz pals’ Danny Baker and Chris Evans in a Hampstead pub while still wearing his full kit … boots included.
When asked for his nationality before an operation, told the nurse: ‘Church of England’.
On a trip to London, jumped out of his car to demand ‘a go’ on a workman’s pneumatic drill. After getting the go-ahead, happily pounded the pavement to the amusement of shoppers.
On first meeting with Lazio’s president to discuss his big-money move to the Italian club, was quick to tell the esteemed gentleman that he reminded him of Russ Abbot.
Organisers of Italia 90 TV coverage had the splendid idea of augmenting team line-ups with footage of each player mouthing his own name. Gascoigne’s genius led him to subvert the process by, instead, mouthing ‘fucking wanker’. Broadcasters across the world had to use it all the way through the tournament.
Booked a series of sunbed sessions for then Newcastle team-mate Tony Cunningham. Who, of course, is black.
Asked by a Norwegian camera crew if he had a message for England’s upcoming opponents, immediately responded with, ‘Yes. Fuck off, Norway.’ Then ran off laughing.
Turned up for England training the morning after then manager Bobby Robson had called him ‘daft as a brush’ with a brush sticking out of his sock.
When asked for a footballing comment while at Lazio, burped enthusiastically into a TV microphone.
Decided it would be a great idea to have massive hair extensions. Looked a fool and had them taken out a day later.
After paying for ex-wife Sheryl’s breast implants, sent flowers to the hospital after the operation addressed to ‘Dolly Parton’.
Astounded commuters in London by jumping on a double-decker in London’s Piccadilly Circus and asking if he could have a drive. The bus driver said yes, and the passengers thoroughly enjoyed Gazza’s impromptu appearance.
Sent a rose to the Wimbledon dressing room for Vinnie Jones after the infamous ball-squeezing incident. Got a toilet brush in return.
Set up best mate Jimmy ‘Five Bellies’ Gardner with a ‘girl’ he knew to be a transvestite.
Has taken the piss out of refs constantly during his career. On one occasion he sniffed a hapless ref’s armpit while he was holding his hand high to signal a free kick.
Undeterred by their frosty reactions, Gazza again tried to prove that refs have a sense of humour by yellow-carding the referee after the official had dropped his card during a Rangers v Hibs game. He was booked for his trouble.
While attempting to deflect the ‘kebab controversy’ which spelled the beginning of the end of his England career, assured reporters that his doner-munching antics following Middlesbrough’s promotion to the Premiership would in no way affect his fitness before France 98. One reporter asked: ‘What do you feel like now?’ Back came the inevitable response: ‘I feel like a kebab with onions.’
As an apprentice desperate to impress then Newcastle boss Jack Charlton, spent a week’s money on fishing gear and begged the famous angler to give him a lesson. On arrival at the riverbank, Charlton promptly threw all but the rod out into the briny, then poured a bottle of Newcastle Brown into the water, dipped in the rod and within seconds was pulling out a whopper. Lesson over.
As a ‘perk’ of boot-cleaning duties during his apprenticeship, took Kevin Keegan’s Golas home to show his mates. But left them on a Newcastle bus.
When playing for England against Belgium in Italia 90, ridiculed Enzo Scifo as he lay on the ground clutching his leg. Gazza thought he was play-acting, so did a mime of his own which involved hopping on one leg with his tongue lolling out.
His departure for the World Cup in 1990 was hampered by the fact he’d left his passport at home. An emotional Gazza wept at the check-in desk until a minion was despatched to bring it to the airport.
Celebrated his new-found hero status after flying home from Italia 90 by wearing a huge pair of fake plastic boobs and stomach bearing the legend ‘Gazza’.
On meeting the president of Denmark’s FA, pretended he could speak Danish. When invited to demonstrate, imitated The Muppet Show’s Swedish chef.
Conned Five Bellies into eating a mince pie after he’d scraped out the filling and replaced it with cat excrement.
Walked into the Middlesbrough canteen wearing nothing but his training socks and ordered lunch.
Paid £320 for a Mars bar in a newsagents in his home town of Dunston, then told the shop owner to spend the change on sweets for local kids.
While dining in the prestigious Bedford Arms Hotel in Woburn with a few of his Geordie mates, decided to place his erect member on the shoulder of a diner at the next table. Thinking someone had tapped him on the shoulder the gentleman turned his head only to have Gazza’s helmet prod him in the cheek.
Took a documentary team to a beautiful Scottish cottage which he informed them was his new place, pretended he’d forgotten his key and knocked instead. When the door opened, told the befuddled housewife inside that he was doing a telly advert and wanted to know if she preferred Daz or Persil.
Crashed Middlesbrough’s team bus at the club’s training ground and caused £310,000 worth of damage.
While at Rangers, urinated over sleeping team-mate Richard Gough.
Handed £1000 over to Jimmy Five Bellies after betting that the burly boozer couldn’t withstand a cigarette lighter’s heat on the bridge of his nose for five seconds … Jimmy could. Twice.
After briefly giving up drinking, was advised to find a new interest. Picked bingo.
Bought a £1000 robot and programmed it to travel into Jimmy Five Bellies’ room at Gazza Towers and announce: ‘Make a cup of tea, fat man.’
Was banned in advance from Liverpool’s Cream
nightclub within days of joining Everton, because the Evertonians who run the place wanted him to avoid temptation and stay fit.
Prepared for England matches during a hugely important tournament by playing marathon games of tennis in the scorching midday sun.
Thought it would be appropriate to wear a blue fright wig before the 1991 FA Cup final.
In his time, has agreed to dress as a Roman centurion, a clown, Oliver Hardy and Braveheart for photo opportunities.
While his Italia 90 team-mate was the hero of Hillsborough, marched into a Sheffield barber shop and demanded ‘a Waddle cut’.
When Gazza signed for Spurs in 1988, he came down to finalise the deal with a bunch of his Geordie mates. They took over the posh hotel in Hadley Wood where Spurs were footing the bill and wreaked havoc. Gazza met then chairman Irving Scholar and began talks by saying, ‘We’d like to thank you for the best three days of our lives.’
Was asked to leave West Lodge Park hotel in London after guests were treated to the sight of a naked Five Bellies swimming across the fish pond.
On his first night in Rome after signing for Lazio, gave his minder the slip, put his shoes by an open window and hid in a cupboard. The minder thought he’d committed suicide.
Recorded a video message for a corporate party and signed off with a cheery ‘Happy Christmas, you fucking wankers’.
Greeted reporters in Rome by standing up, asking for silence, then farting at ear-splitting volume.
Told an interviewer that he was so superstitious about the number 13 that he couldn’t ever bear to see the numbers 4 and 9 together. Oddly, the combination of 5 and 8 was deemed OK.
Shredded England team-mate Dennis Wise’s Armani suit ‘for a laugh’.
While staying at a Scottish hotel, drove across its golf course in his four-wheel-drive Jeep.
While his reputation preceded him in Italy, the English language did not. Hence, his Lazio debut was marked by a banner which read: ‘Gazza’s Boys Are Here … Shake Women And Drink Beer.’
Gazza: My Story Page 31