Peter Paul Rubens - Ceres with Two Nymphs [1624] on Flickr.
[Museo del Prado, Madrid - Oil on linen, 224 x 166 cm]

The Libertines - End of the Gig (Ally Pally, 27.09.2014)

“I’m not a suicidal person at all, but on paper it seems that I am. I think I’m really quite horrible to myself in many ways. You always think it’s going to be fine, the body will repair itself. There will be another chance. But I’m 33 now. The body won’t keep repairing itself. You know when you can flick a coin and catch it on your elbow, and flick it up and catch it on the back of your head? And then you can’t even catch it with two hands any more. You realise something is wrong…” - Pete Doherty

Carl - side-parting, swarthy good looks, occasionally prone to mumbling - is rubbing his leg. He’s just thrown a bottle at a policeman. In return, the policeman’s just whacked him on the knees with a truncheon.

Meanwhile, Pete - staring eyes, small lips, occasionally prone to walking in front of moving cars - wants to know why we’re doing their interview down here.

"Why don’t we do it outside?" he asks. "We could wander around and get the police involved." Well… Before we’ve actually had a chance to answer, the idea’s vanished from Pete’s head. That’s because he’s started an argument with Carl. This isn’t a surprise. They’re always bickering. He starts to taunt Carl about a recent Libertines story in NME where he was the only band member to get quoted.

"Most people fancy Carl more than they do me," he sighs. "For years I’ve been in his shadow, but now the worm has turned and I’m getting all the NME quotes."

"Yeah, why the fuck do you always quote Pete?" demands Carl. "Every time you ask a question, he starts yapping. And another thing, why did you call him the singer? He’s a scumbag."

"Well, he does sing most of the songs," observes John.

"No he doesn’t," snaps Carl. "And if he ever did, I’d have to have words about that."

"He’s a psychopath," confides Pete, turning to us. "He’s pulled a knife on me so many times. I’ve had to call the police about it."

Carl: “Well, I did nearly have to kill you last night, because you were such a c—-. What was that all about, eh?”

Pete suddenly leans over to Carl and starts singing, “chim chiminee” in his face. Everyone starts to laugh. Carl just sighs and says to Pete: “Look, this time, can you just make sure you don’t say all that kooky shit that makes us sound like some skanky cult?”

Pete shrugs: “I’ll say what I like.”