Rot In Hell Rolf – Rolf Harris Should Only Be Remembered As A Nasty Nonce

As his death is announced, Matthew Steeples joins those hoping that rotten Rolf Harris goes to rot in hell; his innocent victims – as young as just 7 years old – can now have the closure they so deserve

Having encountered both him and his weirder-than-weird wife on several occasions and having come to know several individuals he so disgustingly abused, it is not hard for me to join those taking – at the very least – relief at the death of the convicted paedophile Rolf Harris.

Nasty nonce Harris – whose other ‘victims’ effectively included individuals I’ve spoken with who bought his ‘art’ thinking it would form part of their pension funds (some of whom subsequently just burnt it) – supposedly died two weeks ago at his riverside home, ‘Highlands’ in Bray, Berkshire. He had ‘suffered’ a long and no doubt painful end, was fed by a tube and ultimately died of neck cancer and “frailty of old age” watched on by his dippy Alzheimer’s disease suffering wife, Alwen Hughes.

Aside from having met Harris and his wife at ritzy London parties and dined at the next table to him on occasions at Noor Jahan restaurant in Bina Gardens, SW5 – he terrified a young Australian girl in my party; she described him as a “creepy old letch” – I began to learn of the antics of this evil monster in the early 2010s and was contacted by victims of his as early as 2011.

Subsequently, I was amongst the first to report on the allegations made against him and, when he was first accused, recall going on BBC radio programmes to discuss the matter. In the early days, there was widespread disbelief that this supposed ‘national treasure’ known for working in amongst other things children’s television could be in the league of Jimmy Savile, but ultimately this vile Australian import was quite rightly convicted of abusing girls as young as just seven years old.

Harris, however, maintained his supporters and many bombarded me regularly. In a tirade of messages on Facebook in February 2016, for example, Ivan Godfrey – a man with a tendency for also sharing posts by the racist group Britain First and one of over 3,600 loopy people to have supported a disgraceful Change.org petition that seeks to free Harris – told me:

“I read your stupid irresponsible comment on Rolf Harris… Harris was sent down with NO EVIDENCE, by a corrupt imbecile of a judge, a corrupt jury and hammered by a vile corrupt government laky [sic] of a prosecutor Wass. You are obviously the sort of creep that has turned a once Great Britain into a cesspit”.

My response was simple: “You have the right not to read our content so please exercise that.”

Prison did not change Harris and in September 2014, this dedicated lover of Indian cuisine – who according to the Mail Online, “enjoyed eating curried lobster and roast quail as part of his pre-prison diet” – complained that he was having to “make do” with the food at HMP Bullingdon. He reportedly lost a stone as he “[did] not like the taste” of what he [was] being fed.”

Just a month prior, in August 2014 Harris seemed to be in better spirits and at the time, The Mirror reported he’d been handing out chocolate bars to fellow inmates and “thus affectionately became known as ‘Willy Wonka.’ The paper also claimed that the 84-year old also gave away sketches to those that queued outside his cell and that he had taken up dominoes.

Several deservedly unsuccessful attempts to overturn his convictions followed and when that didn’t work his daughter Bindi Nicholls – a woman who’d for a time disowned him, but who clearly came back looking to ensure she got a good chunk of the disgraced entertainer’s supposed £11 million fortune – decided she’d write a book about him in October 2018.

At the time, the Daily Star on Sunday revealed that Miss Nicholls “herself stooped to a new low in deciding to write a book about this monster’s life.” In notes for such a tome seen by the paper, Nicholls outlined her ‘plan.’ Comments included:

“Does this mean my father has suddenly found sex at the age of 87? Good for him I say. I hope I’m still thinking of sex at that age! He can barely run or get upstairs so it is great he can get the energy to fantasise at least!”

“How many Page Three models are over the age of 20? How many people have looked at Britney Spears in the video of her dressed in schoolgirl outfits?”

“Well I can tell you dad is no sexual predator, he is no murderer or kiddy fiddler!”

“Dad is from the age of Benny Hill, Carry On films. He is Australian – which was pretty male chauvinist in those days – that is the era he is from, so sometimes he says non-PC jokes.”

“He loves a flirt, which he does very openly, much to my embarrassment, but I have met many a man from my dad’s generation like that.”

“It’s harmless and you know it doesn’t lead anywhere. Dad loves to give compliments to women so they feel good, for no other reason!”

In his latter years – aside from bizarrely turning up at school to wave at children and wandering around Maidenhead in soiled clothing – the “health [of Rolf Harris supposedly] took a turn for the worse after the sudden death of his beloved poodle.” He is now thanfully brown bread and, given he was cremated, there’ll thankfully be no grave for his remaining ghoulish ‘fans’ to worship him at. This morning, my thoughts are with the victims of this repugnant rotter; may they now finally have closure and may rotten-to-his-core Rolf Harris rot in hell.

Editor’s Note – Unlike as is the case in many publications, this article was NOT sponsored or supported by a third-party. Follow Matthew Steeples on Twitter at @M_Steeples.

Reactions to the announcement of the death of Rolf Harris…

Gutter Girls… The worst verse penned by Rolf Harris (30^th May 1930 – 10^th May 2023)

Harris, it must be remembered, was a monster who showed no remorse for what he did to his victims – whom called out his actions as having “destroyed their childhood innocence” and left them feeling “grubby, dirty and disgusting.” In 2015, this awful Australian penned a sordid ‘song’ in which he described them as “slimy little woodworms.” Sickly titled Gutter Girls – which in itself was illustrative of the true character of this evil rat – it went as follows:

Climb up out of the woodwork babe

From forty years ago,

The climate’s great in Britain now

For making loads of dough

You’ve festered down there long enough,

Time’s right to grab your chance

Clap eyes on a rich celebrity

And make the bastard dance

Chorus

Make him squirm, slimy little woodworm

Make him squirm, squirm, squirm

Sink your claws right in to the hilt, don’t let him go

(Group) NO! NO!

Make him burn, burn, burn

Slimy little woodworm, make him burn

Get your fifty-years-old hooks into his dough

(Group) GO BABY GO

That old bandwagon you crawled out of

(rotten to the core)

Conceals a host of foul accusers,

Twenty maybe more

My guess is they’ll slide after you

All following your stench,

Perhaps you believe you’re pretty still

Some perfumed sultry wench

Chorus

“Make him squirm”,

I can hear you singing

“Make him squirm, squirm, squirm:

Just imagine all of the money waiting there

(Group) OH YEAH!

Make him burn, burn, burn

Come and join the feeding frenzy girls,

Don’t miss out, come on and join me for your share

(Group) PUT IT THERE!