Oliver Reed had a house in Sussex which my mate, a plumber, was called to one day. Mr Reed greeted him with a glass of something in one hand and a cigar in another. Naked. At 9 in the morning. He proceeded to hug my mate before leading him to a sturdy looking door. He pointed at it and wandered off. My mate opened the door to find a completely tiled room with a hole in the middle. It was his toilet. It also stunk, and was blocked. He sorted it out and found Mr Reed standing in the hall waggling his knob at him with a grin on his face. In his other hand he had a wad of tenners which he gave to my mate before seeing him out with a big slap on his arse. He reckoned there was 700 quid in the wad.