SOCIAL DOCUMENTARY

When a mound of grass in Peru started talking to David Icke, his life was never to be the same again. Having plied his trade as a goalkeeper for Coventry City before introducing snooker coverage for the BBC, his overnight transformation led to one of the most notorious chat show appearances in the last 20 years, which considering that this period has included a slap-happy Grace Jones and booze-fuelled George Best is saying something. But when Icke strolled on to the Wogan show in 1991, he was mercilessly jeered at for appearing to insist he was the Son of God. Or maybe they were just laughing at the turquoise shellsuit.

Fast forward 15 years later and Icke is selling out Brixton Academy, his books are big sellers and maybe, just maybe, people might have to rethink his pronouncements about earthquakes and tsunamis and even some spooky Nostradamus-like warnings about a catastrophic attack on an American city. And it’s clear that he has a point to make when the police insist that his wife turns off the camcorder pointing towards Downing Street, when CCTV cameras follow our every move. And yes, he is on the money when taking Bush and Blair to task for their terrorist tendencies.

But then he goes and blows it all with the punchline that behind the human façade, our world leaders and royal figures are actually seven-foot tall lizards who drink children’s blood. The dilemma for Icke is that this is partly why his books and tours do so well but the reason why he will never be taken more seriously as a leading conspiracy theorist.