The wisdom of actor and hell-raiser Oliver Reed:

“Because you sign a piece of paper and say “for better or worse” and you stand up in front of God and vow that you will remain faithful to the exclusion of every other woman for the rest of your life doesn’t mean you can do it. I can’t believe that it’s possible to be sure that you’ll live up to that vow. I might get drunk one day and fall in love or fall over a hooker outside, and I would have consummated a relationship that I couldn’t necessarily believe in.”

“American men like their women to have these special teeth and be perfectly coiffured and have amazing breasts. Have you seen an Italian mama with those kind of teeth, that kind of hair and that kind of waist? They’re not like that. They’re in the kitchen cooking for their families–doing what they should do.”

“I believe that my woman shouldn’t work outside the home. When I come home and I’m tired from filming all day, I expect her to be there and make sure that everything is cool for me. You know, like drawing my bath and helping me into bed. That’s the kind of job she’ll have and, in return for it, she can bear my children and if any man talks bad to her, I’ll hit him.”

He was once physically dragged off the set of a live television programme after turning up smashed out of his skull on vodka and then trying to grope and snog miserable feminist bitch Kate Millett for no other reason than to annoy the hell out of her. Which he did.

On the afternoon of 2 May 1999, then aged 61, Oliver Reed popped into a bar where he proceeded to guzzle down three bottles of Jamaican rum, eight bottles of strong German beer and several double whiskeys, whilst also finding the time to beat a group of young soldiers in an arm-wrestling contest. Then he toppled over dead from a heart attack, leaving someone else to pick up the £450 bar tab.

Now that’s a real man.