Dandy, Now In The Underworld

Sebastian Horsley, who died this week of a suspected heroin overdose, might have deliberately made himself into a ridiculous, posturing figure, but he was enormously good value for money. His autobiography, Dandy In The Underworld, is as entertaining an account as it's possible to imagine of a life gone wilfully not just to the dogs, but to the hounds of hell. Foppish, narcissistic, excessive and ludicrous, his antics included having himself crucified as an art project and squandering his vast inheritance on drugs, prostitutes and outrageous tailored garments. Telling his tall tales with a wit that teetered between grandiosity and self-deprecation, Dandy is a devilishly good read from someone who, self-styled pervert and wastrel though he may have been, also went to great lengths to avoid being boring. He was British eccentric in the high gothic style, with The Hellfire Club, Lord Byron and Aleister Crowley competing as influences with the show-off instincts and urges towards decadence of those 1980s clubbers who really did believe in revolting into style. Horsley being Horsley, he doubtless made it a mission to take the concept of ‘revolting’ as far as possible – which in his case, was a very long way indeed.
Whatever he might have done by way of transcending the everyday tedium of a life on earth, this particular Dandy should be at home in the Underworld. Let’s hope he is, and that they’re stoking the fires high and having an enormous party where he’s welcomed as a guest of honour.