They were about sex and they were graphic. Why should I care if Culture Club have re-formed and they're doing my songs? What, on a tour of Butlins? I'm a terrible grudge-bearer, but I forgive eventually,” he says, although his fall-outs have been epic.

He hadn't spoken to his father for three years when he died, because of the way he left his mother after 43 years of marriage. He had a heart attack while he was on holiday in Egypt with his new wife. George wasn't going to go to the funeral but a friend persuaded him. “Don't get me wrong. I loved my father. But I came back for my mother. It was hard to see her at the funeral with my dad's new wife there. Two months later my mother did a private ceremony and laid a plaque for him. I thought, ‘You are an amazing woman...' I couldn't have loved her more at this point because she did this after everything he did to her. My mother is a tank, a goddess. My dad was a terrible father and a terrible husband, but he did have this really sweet side.”

Now the family think he may have been a schizophrenic. George is the middle child of six children. After him came Gerald, who had his father's colouring, good looks and mental problems. “He did everything my dad wanted. My dad broke his spirit. The tragedy of my brother was that he is a lovely person and nobody realised he is a schizophrenic.” Gerald stabbed his wife to death in 1995 while she was sleeping and was detained under the Mental Health Act.

George's brother David sold the stories of George's drug abuse to The Sun to shock him into giving up his heroin addiction. “He tried to save my life. My brother loves me, but it's safe to say that at that period in my history no one was really behaving well.” George grew up – and in a way still is – surrounded by topsy-turvy emotions where love and control are confused.

When George first came out it was his father who understood first, despite his obvious faults. “Don't tell me what to do, because I had a father who controlled my every move as a child. I hate authority, yet at the same time it turns me on.”

Do you think your father created the blueprint for the ambiguous relationship, the unavailable man? “Ha, that's a myth. They're not unavailable. For a start, I've slept with most of the men I've photographed. My mother asked me recently, ‘Where's this relationship going?' I said, ‘Where did yours go? My father left you after 43 years. Where's anything going?' Then she slapped me.”

Would you rather want something, have that yearning, than actually have it – be kept wanting? “Everybody would. How many people are living out there without intimacy? I'm not. But I'm always with the one that's not going anywhere.”

For him, it seems, intimacy only happens with insecurity. “The idea of gay marriage makes me retch. One of the luxuries about being homosexual is not having to worry about that. I don't want company. I don't want a boyfriend who's a Ming vase. I have friends who are couples who don't have sex. If you ain't having sex, out the door. I don't believe in this whole idea that it's nice to have someone around. It's not.”

Recently he hit the headlines again, this time for sweeping the streets of New York on community service. He calls it “media service”. No quiet park and leaves to bag for him, but a full-on paparazzo frenzy in Chinatown. It was meant to be a humiliation, a public example: even the feted fall. But George remains defiant.

The details of the arrest at his New York flat are traumatic and purposely vague. In October 2005 he called the NYPD, saying his apartment in Little Italy was being broken into. When the cops arrived they found no evidence of a break-in, only a bleary, out-of-it George. They found drugs – some reports say 15 small bags of cocaine – but their over-eagerness to search the place without a warrant rendered any drugs charges null and void. He was, however, found guilty of wasting police time. “It was a crime against myself,” says George, who has always defined himself by nearly destroying himself. Ultimately, he's a survivor. He just can't enjoy an easy life.

He's outside my front door smoking a cigarette. “It'll be a very short interview if I can't smoke inside,” he quips. I never told him he couldn't. I've known George for many years. He's been close to people I've been close to. He's always had turbulent relationships. I've seen him be passionately hot and cold, particularly with women. He has often put them on a pedestal, only to knock them into the ground. The singer and songwriter Amanda Ghost has been his most enduring friend. She's been the only one strong enough to stand up to him.

He comes in, sits down. His face is free of make-up, save beautifully pencilled eyebrows. He's in a hoodie and sweatpants from his own range, B-Rude. He's more aggravated by a recent TV documentary than he was by sweeping the streets. “They showed nothing about what I'm doing creatively.” They played Time Machine, his new single with Ghost, a haunting, soulful ballad. They showed his photography – or rather, a photo of a man's penis. “Of course there's a lot of homoeroticism in my work, but I have photographs of lots of women too.

“It annoyed me, because when I did my service they were telling me, ‘You're a genius, a genius.' ” But it's not George's genius that makes him fascinating, it's the fact that he couples it with being self-destructive, out of control, scorchingly funny, self-deprecating, bitter, sweet, clever, stupid, wounded and outraged. You can't really humiliate George: he's done too good a job of that himself. His lips curl: “How many shots do you need of someone sweeping the streets? I found it very unfascinating. It was surreal, but not boring. There was one girl we kept calling Princess – she'd stolen a bottle of perfume. She turned up with her Prada handbag. She was on really good money, but she'd done it to compensate for whatever she wasn't getting emotionally. She made me laugh because she kept moaning the whole time.”

Of course, George found camaraderie and softness in the hardest places. It doesn't sound like he found it in the least bit humiliating.

“It was about refusing to be humiliated. I'm not Madonna, I don't live that kind of life. We were really working. I didn't mind doing something productive. I wanted to get it over with. I didn't want to talk about my drug arrest either: it's my drama, nobody's business.”

Drugs nearly killed him the first time round.

His brother David outed him to Fleet Street, where The Sun ran the headline that he only had weeks to live. That was in 1986, and he's still here. He's survived various friends' deaths by drugs. Got sober and wrote the partly autobiographical musical Taboo, which was about suburban boys experimenting with drugs and sexuality. The musical did well in London in 2001. The next year it was picked up by Rosie O'Donnell to be put on Broadway. Although George questioned whether the hugely successful multimillionaire talk-show host could really connect to the spirit of the funny, sad, decadent musical, he went with it and took on the role of the outlandish club eccentric Leigh Bowery.

After a three-month run it was deemed a flop and she pulled it. George was deeply wounded by the experience. “Rosie said she wouldn't change anything, then went about changing everything. She wasn't used to people answering her back. She'd say, ‘Come on, show me your balls.' And if you did, she'd cut them off.”

He's chuckling because there's a happy ending to the Taboo story. It's just been bought by Endemol, which owns theatres all over the world, and is going to tour. “I prayed every day she wouldn't renew her option. Hallelujah.”

But the show's demise left him vulnerable. “I stayed in New York, isolating myself and left to my own devices, working on fashion, selling clothes in Pat Fields [the designer made famous for styling Sex and the City].” His New York sojourn mirrored the decadent adventure of 20 years earlier, when he had his first swanky New York apartment, as Culture Club was falling apart and he began his drugs spiral.

Just like the last time, he didn't want to return to London a famous failure. He further isolated himself by firing his manager of 26 years, Tony Gordon, who wanted him to do another Culture Club tour. “I'm not interested in living in the past, but he'd sell his soul for a cheeseburger. He wasn't interested in my photography or my fashion.” This summer, Culture Club re-formed with a new singer and Tony Gordon as manager. “It was a hard thing. I'd been with him since I was 18, but it was a kind of meltdown – a lot of other people went out of my life as well.”

While he can dismiss the street-sweeping as “surreal”, his state of mind around the time of the arrest and the arrest itself bring back a wincing pain. He recalls: “I was taken to the police station but my foot was bleeding. I'd cut it on something. And you know what Americans are like... They said, ‘He's bleeding, maybe he's got Aids.' So they took me to Bellevue,” he chuckles painfully, “where I belong.” Bellevue is a mental institution for the criminally insane. “It was the most nightmarish thing that had ever happened. I was handcuffed to a metal bed. I asked for a drink of water but they just ignored me. I thought, I'll just do a really dramatic scream.
That worked. A really nice Australian nurse came over and said, ‘Are you okay?' I said, ‘I'm not okay. I'm having palpitations, I'm terrified.' ”

 Récemment il a engendré des gros titres, cette fois pour balayer les rues de New York au service de communauté. Il l'appelle "service de médias". Aucuns parcs a nettoyer, mais il a tranquillement nettoyé Chinatown sous la frénésie des paparazzis. Cela a censé être une humiliation, un exemple public : même la promesse de faire la fête. Mais George reste provoquant. Les détails de l'arrestation à son appartement de New York sont des traumatismes . En octobre 2005 il a appelé le NYPD, pour dire que son appartement du quartier de Littlle Italie était cambriolé. Quand les policiers sont arrivés, ils n'ont trouvé aucune trace de cambriolage, seulement ce qui allait être un problème pour George. Ils ont trouvé des sachets de drogues - des rapports de police disent 15 petits sacs de cocaïne - mais leur ardeur pour rechercher à qui était le la drogue et l'endroit d’où elle venait fut vaine . Il était, cependant, reconnu coupable d’avoir fait perdre du temps à la police. "C'était un crime contre moi," dit George, qui s'est toujours défini en se détruisant presque. Finalement, il est un survivant. Il ne peut pas juste apprécier une vie facile. Il est dehors devant ma porte pour fumer une cigarette. "Ce sera une entrevue très courte si je ne peux pas fumer à l'intérieur," raille-t-il. Je ne lui ai jamais dit qu'il ne pourrait pas. J'ai connu George pendant de nombreuses années. Il est été près des personnes que j'ai connues aussi de prés. Il a toujours eu des rapports turbulents avec eux. Je l'ai vu être passionnément chaud et froid, en particulier avec des femmes. Il les a souvent mises sur un piédestal, seulement pour ensuite les rabaisser vers le sol. La chanteuse et parolière Amanda Ghost a été résistante à son ami. Elle a été la seule assez forte pour lui tenir tête.
Il entre, s'assied. Son visage est exempt de maquillage, ses sourcils admirablement dessinés au crayon. Il est dans une tenue de sa propre collection, B-rude. Il est d’avantage blessé par un documentaire de TV récement paru sur Channel 4 où il balayait les rues. "Ils n'ont rien montré sur ce que je faisait créativement." Ils ont joué la machine du temps, en choisissent mon fantôme, une hantise, une ballade émouvante. Ils ont montré une photographie prise par lui - ou plutôt, une photo du pénis d'un homme. "naturellement il y a beaucoup d’homo-érotisme dans mon travail, mais j'ai pris aussi des photographies d'un bon nombre de femmes . "Ce qui m'a gêné c’est quand j'ai fait mon service de communauté ils me disaient, ` que vous êtes un génie, un génie.' "mais ce n'est pas le génie de George qui les fait fascinaient, c’était le fait qu'il mélangeait  un être suicidaire, hors norme, terriblement drôle, pratiquant l’art de l'auto dérision, amer, doux, intelligent, stupide, blessé et outragé. Vous ne pouvez pas vraiment humilier George : il était surréaliste. Je ne suis pas Madonna, je ne vis pas ce genre de vie. Nous travaillions vraiment. Je ne me suis pas occupé de faire quelque chose de productif. J'ai voulu obtenir plus avec. Je n'ai pas voulu parler de mon arrestation et de la drogue: c'est mon drame, personnel " .Les drogues l'ont presque tué la première fois. Son frère David l’a dénoncé, et a dit qu’il avait seulement quelques semaines à vivre. C’était en 1986, et il est toujours vivant. Il y a eu des décès de divers amis qui n’ont pas survécu à la drogue. Devenu sobre il a écrit la comédie musicale « Taboo » partiellement autobiographique, qui était au sujet des garçons de la nuit qui expérimentaient les drogues et la sexualité. La comédie musicale a eu un beau succès à Londres en 2001. L'année suivante il a été contacté par Rosie O'Donnell  mettre « Taboo » sur Broadway. Bien que George ait douté de Rosy pour relayer l'esprit musical drôle, triste, décadent, il a collaboré avec elle et a pris le rôle  de l’excentrique Leigh Bowery. Après trois mois de représentations,  il a  constaté l’échec de la comédie et cet échec a profondément touché George. "Rosie a indiqué qu'elle ne changerait rien, puis a voulu tout changer. Il rit quand même parce qu'il y a une fin heureuse à l'histoire de Taboo qui vient juste d’être acheté par Endemol, qui possède des théâtres partout dans le monde, et elle va voyager. "j'ai prié chaque jour pour qu’ils ne changent pas d’avis. Alléluia." Mais la fin de Taboo l'a laissé vulnérable. "Je suis resté à New York, m'isolant et livré à moi même, travaillant la mode avec B-rude, Son séjour à New York a réssucité  son aventure décadente 20 ans plus tôt, quand il a eu son premier appartement de luxe à New York, car Culture Club tombait en morceaux et il a commencé la spirale de la drogue. Juste comme la dernière fois, il n'a pas voulu retourner à Londres suite à un éche . Il s'est isolé en rejetant son manager de 26 ans plus âgé, Tony Gordon , qui a voulu faire une autre tournée de Culture Club. "Je ne suis pas intéressé de vivre dans le passé, mais il vendrait son âme pour un cheeseburger. Il n'était pas intéressé par ma photographie ou ma mode." Cet été, Culture Club s’est reformé avec un nouveau chanteur et Tony Gordon comme directeur. "C'était une chose dure. J’ai été avec lui depuis que j'ai eu 18 ans, mais c'était un genre de fusion - un bon nombre de gens sont sorti de ma vie ."
Son état d'esprit autour de la période de l'arrestation et l'arrestation elle-même rapportent une douleur grimaçante. Il se rappelle : "j'ai été conduit au commissariat de police et mon pied saignait. Je m’était coupé sur quelque chose. Et vous connaissez les Américains ... Ils ont dit, ` qu'il saigne, il a peut-être le sida.' Ainsi ils m'ont porté à Bellevue, "il ricane péniblement ." Bellevue est un établissement mental pour criminel aliéné. "C'était la chose la plus cauchemardesque qui s'était jamais produite. J'ai été menotté à un lit en métal. J'ai demandé de l'eau mais ils m'ont juste ignoré. J'ai pensé, je ferai juste un cri perçant vraiment dramatique. Cela a fonctionné. Une infirmière australienne vraiment gentille est venue et dit, ` vous allez  bien?' J'ai dit, ` Je ne suis pas bien.

...Drugs nearly killed him the first time round.

His brother David outed him to Fleet Street, where The Sun ran the headline that he only had weeks to live. That was in 1986, and he's still here. He's survived various friends' deaths by drugs. Got sober and wrote the partly autobiographical musical Taboo, which was about suburban boys experimenting with drugs and sexuality. The musical did well in London in 2001. The next year it was picked up by Rosie O'Donnell to be put on Broadway. Although George questioned whether the hugely successful multimillionaire talk-show host could really connect to the spirit of the funny, sad, decadent musical, he went with it and took on the role of the outlandish club eccentric Leigh Bowery.

After a three-month run it was deemed a flop and she pulled it. George was deeply wounded by the experience. “Rosie said she wouldn't change anything, then went about changing everything. She wasn't used to people answering her back. She'd say, ‘Come on, show me your balls.' And if you did, she'd cut them off.”

He's chuckling because there's a happy ending to the Taboo story. It's just been bought by Endemol, which owns theatres all over the world, and is going to tour. “I prayed every day she wouldn't renew her option. Hallelujah.”

But the show's demise left him vulnerable. “I stayed in New York, isolating myself and left to my own devices, working on fashion, selling clothes in Pat Fields [the designer made famous for styling Sex and the City].” His New York sojourn mirrored the decadent adventure of 20 years earlier, when he had his first swanky New York apartment, as Culture Club was falling apart and he began his drugs spiral.

Just like the last time, he didn't want to return to London a famous failure. He further isolated himself by firing his manager of 26 years, Tony Gordon, who wanted him to do another Culture Club tour. “I'm not interested in living in the past, but he'd sell his soul for a cheeseburger. He wasn't interested in my photography or my fashion.” This summer, Culture Club re-formed with a new singer and Tony Gordon as manager. “It was a hard thing. I'd been with him since I was 18, but it was a kind of meltdown – a lot of other people went out of my life as well.”

While he can dismiss the street-sweeping as “surreal”, his state of mind around the time of the arrest and the arrest itself bring back a wincing pain. He recalls: “I was taken to the police station but my foot was bleeding. I'd cut it on something. And you know what Americans are like... They said, ‘He's bleeding, maybe he's got Aids.' So they took me to Bellevue,” he chuckles painfully, “where I belong.” Bellevue is a mental institution for the criminally insane. “It was the most nightmarish thing that had ever happened. I was handcuffed to a metal bed. I asked for a drink of water but they just ignored me. I thought, I'll just do a really dramatic scream.
That worked. A really nice Australian nurse came over and said, ‘Are you okay?' I said, ‘I'm not okay. I'm having palpitations, I'm terrified.' ”

Before Bellevue, he was detained in a holding cell, where police officers called him a has-been. “I said, ‘At least I'm a has-been, you're a never-was.' ” He felt terrorised by the treatment of other prisoners and recalls scenes that seemed designed to threaten him. Being George, he found someone to flirt with, even in bedlam. “One of the paramedics was cute. I said, ‘I like your tattoos. Actually, I like everything about you.' ”

But he can't laugh about all of it. “I was taken into the catacombs of the jailhouse and put into a cell that had cameras facing it. The whole nine hours I was there a voice on a Tannoy said, ‘You f***ing faggot. You waste of space.' The toilet in the cell overflowed constantly. There was piss everywhere. I kept saying, ‘Can I have water?' In the end I drank my own piss because I thought I was going to die of dehydration. I did think, ‘Maybe I'm never going to get out of here.' ” In the event, his estate agent stumped up bail money. Friends sneaked into his apartment and found his passport, and he returned to London immediately. “I am not good in isolation.”

Yet he insists he prefers to live alone. He's furious that in the documentary there was a line that said: “Jon Moss [from Culture Club] got married and Boy George lives alone in the East End, where he makes art about his ongoing longing for unattainable men.”

“I hate that because it implies the homosexual is lonely and Jon Moss is happy and married. He ain't getting any cock and I am.”

George once said: “All men are gay unless proven otherwise.” In those heady Culture Club days, where George was told to keep his sexuality quiet by the suits who wanted to sell records and by Moss, who wanted to sell records, while he was announcing that he preferred a cup of tea to sex, he and Moss were at it all the time. It was a tumultuous relationship where George, used to expressing emotion through violence because he'd seen it in his upbringing, would throw bottles at Moss. Once Moss's fingers got broken. Not great if you're a drummer. “I have a box in my house. Every single note, letter, Jon wrote to me. I kept them because I'm deeply romantic, and I tell you what,” he chuckles fiendishly, “if he pushes it too far I'll print them.

After Moss, his longest relationship was with Michael Dunne. That ended in 1994. At the time of their relationship, Michael was a drug user, and in his meek little way, maybe a George user. Now he's clean and friends hope that one day they might get back together. For the meantime, George is with a lawyer. “He doesn't take any of my shit. His attitude is cool but he's very passionate and intelligent.” It's this new desire of George's to be with someone who doesn't take his shit that gives me hope.

Amanda Ghost is also such a person. Feisty, strong-willed. It's his longest-lasting relationship. When I tell him that I'm impressed that he and Amanda haven't had a fall-out, he says: “Oh yes, we have. We didn't speak for about two months because she tried to organise an interferon.” By this he means an intervention, but he can't bring himself to say the word. He says he's “currently sober”. Drug use is a dark place for him. Nightmarish memories. He says: “My relationship with drugs is nonexistent at this point. But I know why she did it. Everyone was like, what's going to happen? But if you tell me not to do something, I'll do it more.”

The next day I meet Ghost for breakfast. She's not the typical George acolyte. “When I first started hanging around with him I wasn't impressed by his celebrity in the way so many people who'd gone before me had been. He had so many of them. They were all moths to his flame. They all vicariously succeeded through George, but never surpassed him. I said I'd never work for him, would never be on his payroll.”

They met when she was studying fashion and journalism. Ghost was born in 1974, so was only a child when he was first famous. “I've always had a healthy disdain for anyone who thought they were better than me. When I became a singer I never wanted to work with him, but he would read me excerpts from his autobiography, Take It Like a Man.” Amanda believes in the theory that all famous people stop developing at the age they become famous, which for George was 19.

“What it's given him is this sense of, ‘I'll do whatever I want and I don't care about the repercussions because I'm not a normal human being,' and he isn't.” She disagrees with his theory that he unravelled after spending too much time on his own when Taboo finished. She says he entered the dark period before that.

“I pinpoint the time he went to America as when he relapsed. After being a massive icon in the 1980s he was becoming George O'Dowd again. Taboo resurrected the monster. There he was on Broadway, billboards everywhere. He's Boy George again. He wouldn't come back here because he felt a failure. What a load of rubbish. England loves him. He is one of the great Britons of all time. One of the most recognised people that this country has ever produced.”

Amanda is bringing out Time Machine – the record they wrote together and duet on – and George's album on her own record label, Plan A. At 32 you wonder how she has the business savvy to run her own label and write songs for Beyoncé and Shakira and All Saints. Next week she and George will be writing with Kylie. That's easy,” she laughs. “I co-wrote You're Beautiful with James Blunt. He was this sweet boy who asked me to help him, so we wrote this song. I took it to Warner Bros, my label at the time, and they said it's too posh, it'll never sell. That proves nobody knows anything. It's a good lesson.”

It's a lesson that George takes comfort in. It lets him get on with what he loves doing, though he says: “I haven't made money out of the music business for years. It's not why I do it.” These days he earns most of his money from being a sought-after DJ. He's also doing well as a photographer, having just exclusively taken pictures for Jean Paul Gaultier's new couture range. Amanda confirms he is currently drug-free and she is cautiously optimistic for him, although she says: “I wish he would find love.” She compares him to Michael Jackson, Prince, Elizabeth Taylor, Joni Mitchell: “They know what it's like. I think it's incompatible to have love and fame. Are all these people unlovable? They can they be loved by millions but can't be loved by one. I tell him he's being Judy Garland. ‘Is that what you want to happen to you?' I ask him, ‘because that's what the public are expecting, that you'll wake up one day and it'll be on the news that you've had a terrible end.' But he just says he doesn't care.”

That's not true, though: he definitely cares. “I'm very romantic,” he says. “Love is like God. It's unprovable. Its power is the not knowing. That's the whole point of love.” For George, romantic love is most real when it's unreal. He has admitted that he has paid for sex. Ghost thinks only love can save him. It's not that he is unlovable, it's that he has tended to choose people who did or could not love him enough. He needs someone who can give back the love he's capable of giving. To be loved by the one, and not the many.

....J'ai des palpitations, je suis terrifié.' " Avant Bellevue, il a été détenu dans une cellule où officiers de police l'ont appelé has-been. "iI a dit, ` au moins vaut mieux être  has-been, vous, vous n’avez « jamais-été ».' "il s'est senti terrorisé par le traitement d'autres prisonniers et se rappelle des scènes faites pour le menacer. George a trouvé quelqu'un pour flirter avec, même dans le tumulte. "Un des infirmiers était mignon. J'ai dit, ` que j'aime vos tatouages. En fait, j'aime tout au sujet de vous.' " Mais il ne peut pas rire au sujet de tout. "j'ai été enfermé dans les catacombes de la prison et mis dans une cellule pour éviter les journalistes. » La toilette dans la cellule débordait constamment. Il y avait de la pisse partout. J'ai continué à dire, ` je peux avoir de l'eau?' À la fin j'ai bu ma propre pisse parce que j'ai pensé que j'allais droit vers la déshydratation. J'ai pensé, ` peut-être que je ne vais jamais sortir d'ici.'. Ses amis ont été furtivement dans son appartement et ont trouvé son passeport, et dés qui il est sorti, il est revenu à Londres immédiatement. "Je ne suis pas bien en isolement." Pourtant il clame qu'il préfère vivre seul . Il est furieux que dans le documentaire il y ait eu une partie sur Jon: ( de Culture Club ) il est marié et Boy George est seul dans une situation extrême, où il cultive l'art de son désir ardent pour les hommes inaccessibles." Dans  les jours glorieux de Culture Club, où George a dit maintenir sa sexualité en veille par les costumes et par Moss, qui a voulu vendre des disques, alors qu'il annonçait qu'il préférait une tasse de thé au sexe. C'était un rapport tumultueux où George, a utilisé la violence et a jeté  des bouteilles sur Jon Moss .Une fois Jon a eu les doigts cassés . "J'ai une boîte dans ma maison qui contient des lettres que Jon m'a écrit. Je les ai gardés parce que je suis profondément romantique, et je vous dis que si il pousse le bouchon trop loin avec Culture Club, je les publierai. Pourquoi est-ce que je devrais m'inquiéter que Culture Club se’soit reformé et ils chantent  mes chansons ? Il n'avait pas parlé à son père pendant les trois années avant qu’il meure, en raison de la manière dont il a traité sa mère après 43 ans de mariage. Il a eu une crise cardiaque tandis qu'il était en vacances en Egypte avec sa nouvelle épouse. George ne voulait pas aller à l'enterrement mais un ami l'a persuadé. "ne me faites pas dire ce que je n’ai pas dit : j'ai aimé mon père. Mais je suis revenu pour ma mère. Il était difficile de voir sa nouvelle épouse à l'enterrement. Deux mois plus tard, ma mère a fait une cérémonie privée et a mis une plaque pour lui. J'ai pensé, ` que tu est  une femme étonnante... ' Je ne pourrais pas l’aimer plus qu’en ce moment parce qu'elle a fait ceci après que tout ce qu'il lui a fait. Ma mère est une déesse. Mon papa était un père terrible et un mari terrible, mais il a eu ce côté vraiment doux."
<o:p> </o:p>Maintenant la famille pense qu'il a pu y avoir un schizophrène. Gerald, qui a eu le favoritisme de son père, a eu les bons égards et les problèmes mentaux. "il a fait tout ce que mon père a voulu. Mon père a cassé son esprit. La tragédie de mon frère était qu'il est une belle personne et personne n'a réalisé qu'il est un schizophrène." Gerald a poignardé son épouse à mort en 1995 tandis qu'elle dormait et il était détenue sous le joug de la Loi de la santé mentale. Le frère David de George a vendu les histoires de l'usage de George pour la drogue pour le choquer et lancer un cri d’alarme public pour son penchant à l’héroïne. "il a essayé de sauver ma vie. Mon frère m'aime, mais il est certain qu'à cette période de ma vie, personne ne se comportait vraiment bien." George s'est dirigé vers le haut toujours entouré par ses émotions et le désarroi où l'amour et la vie sont confus. "Ne me dites pas quoi faire, parce que j'ai eu un père qui a commandé chaque de mes mouvement en tant qu'enfant. Je déteste l'autorité, pourtant en même temps elle m'excite." Pensez-vous à votre père qui vous a créé un modèle pour un rapport ambigu, d’homme disponible ? "ha, celui-ci est un mythe. Ils ne sont pas disponibles. Pour commencer, j'ai dormi avec la plupart des hommes que j'ai photographiés. Combien de personnes vivent  dehors sans intimité ? Je ne suis pas de ceux-là. Mais je suis toujours avec celui qui ne va pas n'importe où." Pour lui l'insécurité l’intimide . "L'idée du mariage gay me fait rire. Un des luxes pour être homosexuel c’est de ne pas s'inquiéter à ce sujet. Je ne veux pas de compagnie. Je ne veux pas un petit ami qui a un vase à Ming. J'ai des amis qui sont des couples qui n'ont pas le sexe. Si vous n'avait pas de rapports sexuels , sortez dehors !. Je ne crois pas en cette idée même qu'il fait beau d'avoir quelqu'un autour. N'est-ce pas." Après Jon, sa plus longue relation était avec Michael Dunne. Cela a fini en 1994. Au moment de leur relation, Michael était un utilisateur de drogue, et de sa petite manière douce, peut-être un utilisateur de George. Maintenant il est désintoxiqué et mes amis espèrent un jour qu’ils pourraient resortir ensemble. George est avec un avocat. "il ne prend pas de ma merde. Son attitude est fraîche mais il est très passionné et intelligent." Il est ce nouveau désir de George d'être avec quelqu'un qui ne prend pas sa merde qui me donne l'espoir. Amanda Ghost est également une vraie personne. C'est son rapport durable. Quand je lui dis que je suis impressionné que lui et Amanda n'ont pas eu des retombées radioactives, il dit : l'OH oui, nous en avons. Nous n'avons pas parlé pendant environ deux mois parce qu'elle a essayé d'organiser un « interféron »." Par ceci il veut dire une intervention, mais il ne peut pas indiquer le mot. Il dit qu'il est "actuellement sobre". L'utilisation de drogue est un endroit sombre pour lui avec des souvenirs  cauchemardesques. Il dit : "mon rapport avec des drogues est inexistant en ce moment. Mais je sais pourquoi elle l'a fait. Chacun était comme, « qu’est-ce qui va se produire ? Mais si vous me dites de ne pas faire quelque chose, je le ferai davantage." Le jour suivant je la rencontre pour le petit déjeuner. Elle n'est pas l'acolyte typique de George. "quand j'ai commencé la première fois à traîner avec elle je n'ai pas été impressionné par sa célébrité. J'ai dit que je ne travaillerais jamais pour elle, je ne serais jamais sur son bulletin de paie." Ils se sont réunis quand elle étudiait la mode et le journalisme. Ghost a été soutenu en 1974, était ainsi seulement un enfant quand il était d'abord célèbre. "j'ai toujours eu un dédain sain pour n'importe qui  a pensé qu'ils étaient meilleurs que moi. Quand je suis devenu un chanteur que je n'ai jamais voulu travailler avec elle, mais elle me lisait des extraits de mon autobiographie, « prenez-moi comme un homme."
Après avoir été une icône massive dans les années 80 il était George devenant O'Dowd encore. Taboo a ressuscité le monstre. Là il était sur Broadway, entouré d’affiches géantes partout. Il est Boy George encore. Il ne reviendra pas à Broadway parce qu'il a connu un échec. L'Angleterre l'aime. Il est l'un des grands Britanniques de toute temps. Une des personnes les plus identifiées que ce pays qu’il a jamais produites." Amanda apporte Time Machine- le disque qu'ils ont écrit ensemble et en duo  - et l'album de George sur son propre label « Plan A ». Vous vous demandez comment il fait pour sortir son propre label  et écrire des chansons pour Beyoncé, Shakira et les All Saints. La semaine prochaine elle et George écriront avec Kylie.
"Je n'ai pas gagné d'argent par la musique pendant des années. Je ne sais pas pourquoi je le fais." De nos jours il gagne la majeure partie de son argent comme DJ. Il fait également bien en tant que photographe, juste ayant exclusivement pris des photos pour la nouvelle collection de couture de Jean Paul Gaultier. Amanda le confirme: il est actuellement libre de toute drogue avec une notion d’optimiste pour lui, Bien qu'elle dise : "je souhaite qu'il trouve l'amour." Elle le compare à Michael Jackson, Prince, Elizabeth Tylor, Joni Mitchell : "ils sont comme lui ». » Il pense qu'il est incompatible d’avoir l'amour et la renommée. Toutes ces personnes sont-elles peu attachantes ? Elles peuvent elles être aiméés par des millions de gens mais ne peuvent pas être par une seule personne. "Je suis très romantique,l’amour est comme Dieu. Il est improuvable. Sa puissance est ne pas savoir. C'est le point commun avec de l'amour." Pour George, l'amour romantique est le plus vrai quand il est irréel. Il a admis qu'il a payé pour du sexe. Amanda pense que seulement l'amour peut le sauver. Ce n'est pas qu'il est peu attachant, c'est qu'il a du mal à choisir les personnes qui pourraient l’aimer assez. Il a besoin de quelqu'un qui peut lui donner en l'amour ce qu'il est capable de donner. Pour être a aimé par celui-là, et pas les nombreux autres.