One woman alleges Brand raped her, another claims he sexually assaulted her at the end of a relationship that began when she was 16 and a third claims physical abuse and sexual assault.
Well, Russell, let me remind you of one, undoubtedly tiny, incident (to you) that haunts me to this day: When you intimidated, hounded and flattered with deceit.
On August 18 2010, during a spell at another newspaper, I wrote a story revealing Russell was having relationship counselling with his then-fiancée, American singer Katy Perry.
My then-editor called me over, saying Russell had been on the phone and asking for my number — was it OK to hand it over?
At this time, the comedian was at the height of his fame and power.
Dating a bona fide superstar, Hollywood had come calling and he held the showbiz world in the palm of his charming, idiosyncratic, hairy little hands.
Shamefully, perhaps, part of me was flattered — and I willingly handed it over.
That night, the phone rang and it was Russell.
He wanted to know who’d given me the story: A name. He pushed and pushed and pushed.
He was warm, charming and played the human card: “Clemmie, I feel betrayed,” he sighed. “Only a handful of our inner circle know this story, and imagine how that feels. Please tell me so I can cut this person out of our lives.”
Of course, he had a point. No one wants to read their innermost secrets in a national newspaper. We all crave certitude.
I told him I couldn’t reveal my sources, and/or betray my contact’s trust.
The next day, he texted again. And again and again and again.
Daily phone calls and messages followed, with promises of “anything I wanted” in return: An exclusive joint interview with him and Katy, or news of if and when she became pregnant with their first child.
To a showbiz reporter, this was aural crack. I was intoxicated.
He kept me talking, an arch manipulator, and shamefully I was flattered by his attention and false promises.
Around two weeks later, he worked out the source.
Soon after I received a furious phone call from my contact, a grown man on the cusp of tears, saying his elderly parents had received a visit from one of Russell’s flunkies.
At this time, Russell employed a giant bodyguard — presumably, although I have no proof, it was him (or someone v much like him).
The mum was home alone in North London. The minder apparently called the source, and said: “Don’t forget where I am. I’m stood here with your mum.” He went on to tell her that her son was “in a lot of trouble”. Afterwards, the two entirely blameless pensioners were left reeling, deeply shaken and understandably terrified.
Surprisingly enough, I never did get my tell-all interview with Katy and Russ.
And no Pulitzer-worthy stories magically fell on my lap courtesy of the Forgetting Sarah Marshall star.
It wasn’t just Sarah he conveniently forgot.
To be clear, this is not a tabloid journalist sob story. Russell was under no obligation to do anything — interview, mea culpa, showbiz exclusive. Which is lucky. Because he didn’t.
The whole episode left me feeling used, bruised and deeply, deeply ashamed. But I’m the lucky one.
Russell never, ever sexually threatened me, or intimidated me as he stands accused.
Before this incident, face to face he was always polite, engaging and charming — he cheerily attended charity gigs, supported newspaper campaigns and generally played the celebrity game like a consummate pro.
Today, he has found contentment with wife Laura, the mother of his two children, and appears to have turned his life around.
However, according to the comprehensive and excellent Sunday Times and Channel 4 Dispatches investigation, the comedian-turned-wellness-guru has a history of alleged abusive interactions with women.
One woman alleges he raped her, another says he seriously sexually assaulted her at the end of a relationship that began when she was 16 and he was 31 and a third claims physical abuse and sexual assault.
None of it makes for nice reading and Russell vehemently denies the accusations.
Strangely enough, none of these allegations made it into either of Russell’s autobiographies.
The BBC and Channel 4 are now investigating, trying to get to the bottom of the allegations — why his lewd, crass behaviour was allowed. Of why fame and power and viewing figures apparently trumped human decency.
Russell, it must be stated, denied the “very serious criminal allegations” in a typically articulate/conspiracy-theorist-heavy YouTube statement.
Insisting that “the relationships I had were absolutely always consensual”, he speculated about “coordinated media attacks” with “another agenda at play”.
This, obviously, sparked the culture war battle lines to be drawn, turning what should, really, be a case of “bad man exposed” into Left vs Right.
Retrospective interviews with women citing Brand’s predatory behaviour continue to emerge.
And it’s clear that the only surprising thing about this whole, unedifying report, is that no one, really, seems too surprised.
Married? Very nice work, Adele
ADELE is an inspiration: Works for five months, and then disappears entirely for seven years.
It is precisely this sort of work/life balance to which I aspire.
And over the weekend, she hinted she’d quietly got on and married her American boyfriend, Rich Paul – referring to him on stage as her “husband”.
No fuss, no fanfare, no Hello! magazine deal or vomitingly loved-up Instagram posts.
Think what you like about Prince Harry, but no one, absolutely no one, can knock him for this inspirational tournament, an event for veterans injured in service.
Well done, Harry.
