Thursday night when we were chatting in the pub Simon came up with an idea. “Let’s play Russian roulette”. “Are you mad?” both myself and Robbie said. But no, he was deadly serious! The following Thursday we sat round the table in Simon’s cellar; a handgun in the middle. One live bullet, five empty barrels. I was to go first. With shaking hands, I put the gun to my head. Why the hell was I doing this? I gently squeezed the trigger. A small click indicated I had one of the empty barrels. I passed the gun to Simon who immediately held it to his head and squeezed the trigger. An almighty shot rang out. Some of Simon’s brains landed on my knee. I vomited. Oh my God, what have we done? We have just witnessed the death of music’s biggest mogul Simon Cowell, all because what Simon says goes.