A Liquid Lunch: In Bed With Shane MacGowan

Shane-2Shane MacGowan is unwell. In a hotel room in London Bridge, the Pogues frontman is sat up in bed fully dressed, eating soup with his fingers. He runs them around the nearly empty bowl on the tray beside him, licks them delicately and then wipes his hand on the bed sheets. The television is on, chattering about the news, but nobody’s watching. There’s a pack of Gauloises on the bedstand and another pack of Bensons lying on the bed. Shane’s partner Victoria Mary Clarke welcomes me in. “Do you want a glass of this?” she says, proffering a bottle of red wine. “It’s very good. It costs £50.”

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