Maxim publisher and very rich man Felix Dennis is an eccentric throwback to the old-school journalism of yore: he also writes poetry and is trying to recreate an ancient forest in England. In an interview with the Times of London, he talks about his old crack habit and how he spent three years trying to "save a young prostitute." Then, a couple of bottles of wine into the evening, he confesses to killing a man, 25 years ago:
He looks so intense that I ask him whether he's ever fought with a man over a woman. "I've killed a man," he says. What? "I've killed a man." What do you mean, you've killed a man? "I killed him." Does everyone know you've killed a man? "No, and they'll never find out, either." Are you kidding me? Are you winding me up? Where? In what country? "I killed him. That's all you need to know. I killed him."
Oh Felix, you're having me on. "No." Promise me. Swear to God... "He hurt her and I told him to stop and he kept on." What did it feel like, then? "He hurt her." What did you do? "Pushed him over the edge of a cliff." In the Caribbean? "Don't matter where it was. He wouldn't let her alone. She told him to stop. I told him to stop. Many people told him to stop. Wouldn't stop. Kept on and on and on. Made her life a living misery: beat her up, beat up her kids, wouldn't let her alone, kept on, kept on - weren't even his kids, so in the end, I had a little meeting with him, pushed him over the edge of a cliff. Weren't 'ard." [Times Online]
I once woke up in the morning convinced I had killed a man by smashing his head in with a stout branch. It seemed so real that I started to feel remorse, before realising I'd dreamt it. It still puzzled me for a few hours and then I realised that I'd had this dream before, but hadn't remembered it on the previous occasion. And yes, I'd had a few beers the night before.