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The Sun
25 minutes ago
- The Sun
Pete Davidson opens up about ‘guilt' over girlfriend's pregnancy after high-profile romance with Kim Kardashian
COMEDIAN Pete Davidson has opened up on feeling guilty about his girlfriend Elsie Hewitt's pregnancy. It was revealed last month that the Saturday Night Live star, 31, was to become a first-time father with his model and actress partner whom he has been romancing since the start of the year. 4 4 4 But now in a candid confession, Pete, who is perhaps better known for his colourful love life than his career, has discussed the "guilt" he feels surrounding Elsie's pregnancy. In an appareance on The Breakfast Club, Pete discussed how the pregnancy had become headline news and how he "felt bad" that Elsie will have to deal with many things publically as a result of being attached to him. Pete was previously engaged to Ariana Grande in 2018 and was Kim Kardashian's first boyfriend after her messy split from long-time husband, Kanye West. Speaking to The Breakfast Club's hosts, Pete said: "I feel bad for my girl because I bring a lot of s***. "Anything I do or she does now is gonna be a thing. "She's a very private person and she's the one doing all the work. It's supposed to be a beautiful experience." Pete went on to say: "She's never made me feel this way or said anything but I feel so guilty and horrible that I could not allow her to have the ideal pregnancy that almost every woman gets to have and enjoy." Pete and Elsie were first linked in March of this year after they were spotted together in Miami. They could be seen packing on the PDA and were quick to make their relationship Instagram official just a week later - three months before confirming their pregnancy to the world. Pete Davidson admits 'I need to get out of my head' after Elsie Hewitt debuts bump ahead of stars welcoming baby Elsie has previously gushed over her love for Pete to People magazine in May when they made their red carpet debut with one another. She told the publication at the time: "He's so incredible. "Honestly, best person I've ever met, and I'm so grateful that he's here tonight." Elsie, 29, first announced the news on Instagram, cheekily captioning the post with "welp, now everyone knows we had sex." She included a sweet video of herself getting an ultrasound, with an accompanying ultrasound image, along with several loved up snaps of herself with the Saturday Night Live alum. A source close to Pete told The U.S. Sun that Elsie is due this winter. As an insider previously revealed to The U.S. Sun, the funnyman and the model/ foodie had both hoped to start a family together. "They've been living together for several months now, and while things seem to be moving fast from an outside perspective, Elsie sees a future with Pete and wants to take things with him to the next level," the insider said at the time. "She very much sees herself having a family with Pete. She loves the way their relationship is going and she envisions bringing children into that equation," the source claimed. They moved in together in a Brooklyn apartment just months after meeting. Pete was engaged to Ariana Grande for six months in 2018 before they split. He went on to enjoy brief romances with Kate Beckinsale, model Kaia Gerber and Bridgerton star Phoebe Dynevor, the daughter of Coronation Street star Sally Dynevor. Pete was then with Kim Kardashian for ten months between October 2021 and August 2022.
The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
The Miami Showband massacre: what led to the killing of the ‘Irish Beatles'?
'It was absolutely despicable,' says Des Lee, his voice trembling with emotion, 'to think that those people who were supposed to be protecting us had planned our murder …' I've never heard a story as astonishing as Lee's. His memoir, My Saxophone Saved My Life, recounts the events of half a century ago, in which his much-loved pop group, the Miami Showband, were ambushed by loyalist paramilitaries operating a fake army checkpoint, with half his bandmates murdered as he lay still, playing dead to stay alive. Though the attack carries strangely little traction in Britain, the Miami Showband massacre of 1975 is deeply etched into Irish cultural memory. Even amid the context of the Troubles, whose bleak statistics – more than 3,600 dead, more than 47,500 injured – made slaughter almost normalised, the killing of three members of the Miami Showband left Ireland in shock. Fifty years after the atrocity, Lee, 79, tells me about a tangled plot with its roots in the uniquely Irish phenomenon of showbands. In their heyday in the 1950s to 70s, showbands – besuited troupes, closer to cabaret than rock'n'roll, performing contemporary hits with slick routines choreographed down to the last synchronised leg kick – fulfilled a need for glamour and escapism at a time when overseas stars seldom visited Ireland. Showbands, who typically took the stage around midnight, provided a crucial context in which young people from the Catholic and Protestant communities could forget their troubles (and the Troubles), and let their hair down. 'As far as we were concerned,' Lee recalls, 'a punter was a punter, no matter what religion, creed or colour. They would mingle, and you could have a Protestant meeting a Catholic and getting married. It was incredible.' Born John Desmond McAlea on 29 July 1946, Lee grew up in the Catholic suburb of Andersonstown, West Belfast, in a relatively comfortable working-class family. He would supplement his pocket money in audacious ways. On 12 July, AKA The Twelfth or Orangemen's Day, the Protestant community would hold rallies at which the likes of Reverend Ian Paisley would vehemently denounce Republicans and Catholics. Lee would go along and blend with the crowd, collecting bottles discarded by the Loyalist throng and claiming the penny deposits. Lee found a job at a plumbing supplier but his head was soon turned by rock'n'roll, and he quit to follow in the footsteps of his nightclub musician father. He served his apprenticeship on a thriving Belfast scene centred around Cymbals instrument shop, where he rubbed shoulders with a teenage Van Morrison ('A strange guy,' says Lee, 'but an exceptional talent') and future members of Thin Lizzy. In 1967, the circuit's leading act, the Miami Showband, underwent one of its periodic reshuffles and drafted in Lee on sax, along with a handsome, charismatic singer-pianist called Fran O'Toole. Fronted by Dickie Rock, who had represented Ireland at Eurovision, the Miami were as big as it got. When Des calls them 'The Irish Beatles' with a twinkle, it's only slight hyperbole: they topped the Irish singles chart seven times. 'When I got the deal to join,' says Lee, 'I thought, 'My God, all my birthdays are coming together.' I jumped at it.' 'Girls were screaming,' he says. 'We would have 2,500 people inside watching us, and 2,500 outside trying to get in. I couldn't go to the shop without people wanting my autograph. It was stardom with a capital S.' Lee developed a close friendship and songwriting partnership with O'Toole, who later replaced Rock as frontman. Lee became the bandleader. His responsibilities included repertoire and finances, and ensuring everyone looked immaculate (70s footage shows them in dazzling-white suits with glittering lapels). He also instilled discipline. 'My job was to make sure everybody was squeaky clean,' he says. 'No going on the piss before a gig. We weren't saints or angels, make no mistake. What goes on afterwards, behind closed doors, nobody knows. But we had to put on a professional show.' The Miami Showband entered the summer of 1975 in an optimistic mood. The band had scored major hits with Charlie Rich's country standard There Won't Be Anymore and Bonnie St Claire's bubblegum-glam nugget Clap Your Hands and Stamp Your Feet. O'Toole was being groomed for solo stardom, and had been booked to play Las Vegas to launch his Lee-penned single Love Is, with the intention of positioning him as the next David Cassidy. But that show never took place. On Wednesday 30 July 1975, the Miami played the Castle Ballroom in Banbridge, County Down, about 10 miles north of the border. 'It was just a normal night, nothing untoward. We came off stage and did the usual thing: signed autographs, chatted to the fans, then we had a cup of tea and a sandwich, and got ready to do the journey back to Dublin.' Road manager Brian Maguire went ahead in the equipment van. Drummer Ray Millar drove separately to visit family in Antrim. The rest of the band – O'Toole, Lee, Brian McCoy, bassist Stephen Travers and guitarist Tony Geraghty – climbed into the Volkswagen minibus and headed south. Eight miles into the journey, at 2.30am on Thursday 31 July, they were flagged down by the red torch of an army checkpoint, a commonplace occurrence in the North. 'You would be asked the same questions: 'Where are you going, where are you coming from?'' says Lee. 'We would be sitting in the van with a bottle of brandy or whiskey, and we'd occasionally offer a drop to the soldier who stopped us.' They were asked to step out of the van – again, not entirely unusual – and made to line up facing the roadside ditch. At first, the soldiers chatted casually, but their demeanour changed when someone with an English accent joined them and began giving orders. McCoy found this reassuring, telling Travers that they were dealing with the British army rather than the less predictable, locally recruited Ulster Defence Regiment (UDR). Before the search, Lee asked permission to fetch his saxophone to show it wasn't a weapon, laying it on the road a few feet away. Suddenly, an almighty explosion tore through the van, throwing all five musicians across the ditch into the undergrowth. The soldiers had not been soldiers at all – at least, not on duty. The fake army patrol were members of the paramilitary Ulster Volunteer Force (UVF), although at least four of them were also serving with the UDR. Their intention was to plant a briefcase bomb under the driver's seat, timed to explode further down the road. The timer malfunctioned, instantly killing two members of the UVF's Mid-Ulster Brigade, Harris Boyle and Wesley Somerville. In the chaos, an order was given to shoot the fleeing musicians to eliminate witnesses. Lee lay still with his face in the grass, slowing his breathing and pretending to be dead – a trick he had learned from watching Vietnam movies – as he heard the murder of his friends taking place around him. First to die was McCoy, 32, shot in the back with a Luger pistol. Travers, 24, hit by a dumdum bullet, was seriously wounded. As Geraghty, 24, and O'Toole, 28, attempted to drag him to safety, they were caught by gunmen, pleading for their lives before being executed with Sterling submachine guns. O'Toole was shot 22 times, his long-haired head so badly mutilated that a doctor would later ask Lee if there was a girl in the band. Travers lay next to the body of McCoy and, like Lee, played dead. Once the attackers had apparently left the scene, Lee cautiously went to fetch help. 'The main road was the most horrific scene I've ever seen in my life,' he remembers. 'There were bits of bodies lying all over the place. It was horrendous.' The first passing vehicle, a truck, refused to give Lee a lift. Eventually, a young couple agreed to drive him to nearby Newry, where he alerted police. 'My hand was on the door handle just in case, ready to jump out, because I didn't trust anybody at that stage.' The killings stunned Ireland, and thousands lined the streets for the funerals of the murdered musicians. The Miami Showband had represented hope. Not only did their shows unite communities, but their membership was mixed: McCoy and Millar were Protestants, the rest were Catholics. Is it fanciful to suggest that they were targeted because someone, somewhere, resented this pan-sectarian fraternisation? Lee doesn't think that was the motive. 'We were the No 1 band, and this gang wanted maximum publicity. If that bomb had exploded when they intended, the Miami Showband would have been accused of carrying weapons for the IRA.' (Indeed, within 12 hours, the UVF accused the band of being bomb-traffickers, describing their killing as 'justifiable homicide'.) Lee agreed to testify at the trial in Belfast on condition he was helicoptered to and from the Irish border, with 24-hour protection. His life was threatened by relatives of the accused; he has, he says, been looking over his shoulder ever since. Lance corporal Thomas Crozier and Sgt James McDowell, both of the UDR, were sentenced to life in the Maze prison, as was John Somerville, brother of the deceased Wesley and a former soldier. (They were released under the Good Friday agreement.) Everything pointed towards collusion: covert collaboration between paramilitaries and the organs of the British state. Travers, Lee and Millar relaunched the Miami Showband with new members before the year was out, to familiar scenes of hysteria – but their hearts weren't in it. Travers felt they had become a circus, and that audiences had come to stare rather than dance; he left the band the following year. For Lee, now lead singer, it could never be the same without his lost band members. 'I looked around and there was no Fran, no Brian and no Tony, and I didn't enjoy that.' In 1982, tired of feeling that he and his family were in danger, Lee started a new life in South Africa, performing as a saxophonist and band leader on the Holiday Inn circuit. He remained there for two decades, only returning after his wife, Brenda, died. Travers, meanwhile, went on a tenacious, meticulous search for the truth, engaging with numerous investigations and initiatives. A 2019 Netflix documentary, Remastered: The Miami Showband Massacre, is centred around his dogged efforts. Through the years, the finger of suspicion has repeatedly pointed at two men: Capt Robert Nairac of the Grenadier guards (later executed by Republicans), and Robin 'The Jackal' Jackson, a former soldier from County Down and a key figure in the notorious Glenanne Gang, were believed to have planned the ambush. Both were named by British intelligence whistleblowers, and Ken Livingstone named Nairac as a conspirator in his maiden speech as an MP. In December 2017, 80 documents were released including a 1987 letter from the UVF to the then-taoiseach Charles Haughey on headed notepaper, which openly admitted collusion with MI5 in the attack. The evidence was now overwhelming. The historic activities of the Glenanne Gang, including the Miami Showband Massacre, fall under the purview of Operation Denton, due to report this year. The massacre hasn't faded from Irish memory. A sculpture commemorating the dead musicians, unveiled in 2007 by former taoiseach Bertie Ahern, stands on Parnell Square in Dublin. One person who apparently didn't remember, however, was Bono, who described the 2015 shootings at the Eagles of Death Metal show in Paris as 'the first direct attack on music'. He later apologised, and U2 incorporated a slide of the Miami Showband into their show. The survivors don't have the luxury of forgetting. The trauma has left an indelible mark. Travers was diagnosed, in later life, with enduring personality change. Lee has, he tells me, experienced profound survivor's guilt. In 2021, Lee was awarded £325,000 compensation, in a package he says was presented to survivors and families as a take-it-or-leave-it deal. He considers the sum to be 'peanuts, for 50 years of anger and pain'. More than financial recompense, he says what he hopes for, with up to five perpetrators still officially unaccounted for, is closure: 'Just tell the world the truth.' My Saxophone Saved My Life by Des Lee with Ken Murray is out now (Red Stripe Press)
Daily Mail
2 hours ago
- Daily Mail
Russell Crowe breaks his 20-year silence on THAT phone-throwing incident in New York that saw him arrested for assault and led away in handcuffs
Russell Crowe has spoken of his 'regret' over a 2005 incident that saw him arrested for assault. The New Zealand-born actor spent six hours in a New York jail after throwing a phone at a reception employee at the Mercer Hotel in June of that year. He was famously led from the luxury hotel in handcuffs after expressing his frustration at being unable to make a long-distance call to his then-wife, Danielle Spencer. The 61-year-old references the incident in a music video for his latest single, Save Me, with his band, The Gentlemen Barbers. 'Look man, at 61, I can forgive my bad days,' he told the Daily Telegraph on Sunday. 'I'm not at all one of those people that say you shouldn't have regrets, I absolutely respect regret. Regret is one of the greatest processes.' Crowe says he has grown 'smarter' with age and is now a better person than he was then, having 'fixed' and 'found himself' in the years since. 'You know, you're not gonna be finding any improvement by not being honest with yourself about who you are and what you did, what you might've said,' he explained. Crowe said the new song is, 'Just a reminder that not every night you get to play in front of 12,000 people – sometimes you're singing Irish folk songs to the prison officer who is looking after you in jail.' The 2005 incident unfolded when Crowe was trying to call his then-wife Spencer at home in their Sydney apartment and wanted a phone that worked. Crowe was in New York to publicise his boxing film Cinderella Man, about the Depression-era heavyweight champion Jim Braddock, when the fight happened. He was hoping to say goodnight to his young son at 4am local time when he struggled to find an outside line. After complaining to the front desk from his room, he went down to the hotel reception and launched his attack. The star is said to have broken down in tears after he was handcuffed by police. The 2005 incident unfolded when Crowe was trying to call his then-wife Danielle Spencer at home in their Sydney apartment and wanted a phone that worked. Pictured together He later said he was 'at the bottom of a well,' adding, 'I can't communicate how dark my life is right now'. Crowe admitted at the time that he was 'very sorry' for the incident and confessed that he had a problem controlling his anger - but has avoided speaking about the situation since. The Gladiator star initially faced felony charges, but he later pleaded guilty to a reduced charge of third-degree assault. He was fined, but avoided jail time. In August 2005, Crowe settled a civil lawsuit filed by the New York hotel clerk, Nestor Estrada, that he had assaulted with a telephone that June. While the details of the settlement are confidential, Crowe is understood to have paid out around $100,000 to Estrada. Danielle, 56, and Russell, who met in 1989 on the set of the film The Crossing, married in April 2003 at the actor's farm in Nana Glen, New South Wales. They separated in 2012 and finalised their divorce six years later. During their time together, the couple welcomed two sons: Charlie, 21, and Tennyson, 19.
