Faith and Fear Combine During the Global Datacentre Surge
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- By Adam Owens
- 06 Nov 2025
“The truth is, man,” reflects the late Ozzy Osbourne in his recently released memoir. “Why would anybody want life advice from me?”
Indeed, he created Planet Caravan and numerous other metal classics. But, by his personal confession, Osbourne was also a lawbreaker, a deceiver and an substance abuser, who regularly risked his and others’ lives and decapitated a bat. (To explain, he says, he believed it was a toy.)
For all his errors and misdemeanours, however, Osbourne is portrayed positively in Last Rites: introspective, rational and hilariously blunt, and not just by celebrity standards.
Osbourne passed away in July aged seventy-six, less than three weeks after performing with the original Black Sabbath. As if a message from beyond the grave, Last Rites documents his struggles privately with a neurological condition, risky spinal surgery in 2019 and successive complications.
But it wasn’t all bad, Osbourne notes, typically self-effacing: he also provided the voice for King Thrash in Trolls World Tour, and made a song with Post Malone.
Reflecting on his guiding principle as the “Prince of Darkness”, he states: “I had 70 great years, which is a lot longer than I thought possible or probably deserved.” Here are ten takeaways.
Osbourne attributes his career to his dad, who purchased for him a 50-watt PA system on hire purchase for £250 – £2,000-3,000 in today’s money, and an “astronomical sum” for a factory-worker parent in Birmingham.
Ozzy’s biggest remorse was that he never thanked him: “Without that PA system, I’d would still be in Aston.”
At nineteen, and fresh out of prison (for burglary), Osbourne formed his first band: the Polka Tulk Blues Band, inspired by his mum’s preferred brand of talcum powder. But they were consistently metal, in spirit if not yet in name.
Tony Iommi, the guitarist and “de facto head” of Black Sabbath, lost the tips of two fingers in an workplace mishap. Not to be dissuaded, “He just created himself a set of new fingertips using an old Fairy Liquid bottle, then re-taught himself how to play,” Osbourne writes.
Later Ozzy displayed the same determination and resourcefulness to get high, befriending every crooked medical professional who’d write him a prescription. “At one point I had a larger circle who were dental anaesthesiologists than the average dental anaesthesiologist did.”
As a “top-tier” drug addict and alcoholic, Osbourne’s tastes had a tendency to escalate. One pint of Guinness led to nine more, then cocaine, then pills; an attempt to quit smoking ended with him smoking 30 cigars a day.
His only saving grace, Osbourne writes, was that he had “never, ever wanted to shoot up … Needles just terrify me, man.” More or less everything else was fair game, narcotic or no.
Ozzy describes being addicted to all manner of drugs, of course, but also sex, fame, fast cars, Yorkshire Tea, English sweets, doodling, wordsearch books, “texting funny shit” to his mates and Peter Gabriel’s album So, which he played so much upon its release that his security guard was forced to take stress leave.
At one point, Osbourne was eating so much ice-cream (vanilla and chocolate only, “sometimes strawberry”), he decided it would be more cost-effective to hire a chef to make it for him. “Big mistake … After a few weeks, I became pre-diabetic.”
Even his healthier habits spiralled out of control. In Los Angeles, Osbourne got hooked on apples, and “none of that granny smith bullshit”: they had to be pink ladies, hand-selected from the high-end LA grocer Erewhon. At his peak, Osbourne was eating 12 a night. “I guess I’m a recovered apple-a-holic now.”
Osbourne’s last bender was in 2012. “The first sign of trouble,” he writes, was when he purchased a Ferrari 458 Italia, then a second Ferrari 458 Italia, then an Audi R8 – despite not knowing how to drive.
He sat his test in LA: a “piece of piss”, Osbourne writes. “All you’ve gotta do is drive around the block at this place in Hollywood and not crash into anything. They don’t even make you park, never mind do a hill start.”
But once back in Buckinghamshire, the Californian driving licence made him overconfident. He started driving under the influence to High Wycombe to buy coke. “To this day, I have absolutely no memory of ever going to High Wycombe.”
Sharon – still in LA, making her TV Show The Talk – eventually got wind, sold all of his cars and got him into AA. “That one bender set me back north of half a million quid.”
In 2018, Ozzy was clean for half a decade, a few months off turning 70 and busy preparing for his final concerts, No More Tours II. (The first No More Tours tour, in the 90s, had been marketed as his farewell “before I realised there’s only so much time you can spend in your back garden wearing wellies”.)
Life was good, as evinced by his hi-tech bed. Osbourne describes it as having “a “bigger brain than ChatGPT”, with two remotes for him and Sharon to each adjust their separate sides and “motors, wires and gear wheels”.
Ever since he was a boy – and through his marriage, much to Sharon’s displeasure – Osbourne had always leapt into bed with a flying leap. One night in 2018, he got up to relieve himself before returning to bed with his usual dramatic entrance. This time, however, he hit the floor, hard.
“To this day, I don’t understand how the fuck I could have missed it … It’s like having a Sherman tank parked in the middle of the room.”
In 2003, while filming The Osbournes, Ozzy had wrecked his quad bike, broken his neck and spent eight days in a medically induced coma. The failed leap into bed, 15 years later, dislodged the metal holding his shoulders and spine together, necessitating intrusive surgery.
Though Osbourne was recommended to get a second opinion about having surgery, he wound up going ahead with a specialist he dubbed “Dr No Socks … ’cos he didn’t wear any”. For years after the procedure, he had a difficult recovery and suffered serious illnesses such as sepsis and pneumonia.
Together with the Covid-19 pandemic, this forced the delay, then the cancellation, of No More Tours II, sparking online rumours of Osbourne’s death. At one point he was in intensive care. “I’d never taken so many drugs in my life, which was quite a statement.”
Though Ozzy did not blame Dr No Socks, he was sorry about not getting a second opinion, he writes. “It’s hard to imagine it could have ended up any worse.”
Osbourne’s other big regret was not checking the small print of his first contract with Black Sabbath. Not comprehending the term “in perpetuity” cost the band their publishing rights, which were signed over to “a bloke called David Platz, who died in the nineties”, and since then his children.
Once Osbourne asked his accountant how much that mistake had set him back. The accountant replied reluctantly, and only after being pressed, that it was roughly £100m. “I had to go and sit down.”
Ozzy is ambivalent about Black Sabbath’s devilish reputation, and his own as the “Prince of Darkness” (“not that I knew who the fuck John Milton was”).
His first musical love was Cliff Richard; later, he was starstruck meeting Phil Collins. Of the teenage girls who used to flee of Sabbath gigs screaming, he writes: “You’ve gotta remember, a lot more people went to church back then.”
Nonetheless, when asked by Sharon to “stand out” at a big meeting with his American label in 1980, Osbourne’s response was to take out a live dove out of his jacket pocket, having hidden it there for a vaguely-thought-out stunt about peace – and bite its head off. “The place went absolutely fucking nuts. People shrieking. Crying. Throwing up.”
Osbourne adds that he was 36 hours into a 72-hour bender. “The poor dove was innocent,” but it did help with the promotional campaign for his solo album, Blizzard of Ozz. “People thought I was an complete madman.”
Decades later, when Covid hit, Osbourne was shaken by the risks he’d run with the dove and then the bat in Des Moines (though, again – he thought it was a toy). “Of all the bullets I’ve ever dodged, not catching some deadly disease … has gotta be right up there.”
For all its dark stylings, Black Sabbath was “the kind of band that went on stage in our jeans and leather jackets”, Osbourne writes – “a male band … for male audiences”. They had difficulty when metal started to shift towards spectacle.
Choosing Kiss to open for their mid-70s tour was a mistake, Osbourne writes, remembering their Spandex jumpsuits, bared nipples, extravagant facepaint and “half a ton of explosives”. Sabbath bassist Geezer “almost had a heart attack” at Gene Simmons, 7ft tall in platforms, flashing his tongue.
Meanwhile, “The closest I got to a sexy album cover was me in a werewolf costume,” Osbourne writes. They thought they’d understood the issue: “You wanted your support act to be good, but didn’t want to upstage yourself. You wanted Status Quo, basically.”
Instead, for their 1978 tour, Sabbath wound up booking a little-known LA outfit called Van Halen. After he watched 20,000 jaws drop at Eddie Van Halen’s innovative performance of Eruption, Osbourne recalls “going back to our dressing room in silence and just sitting there, staring at the fucking wall”. Every night of the tour, Van Halen “just destroyed us”.
Osbourne met Sharon through her father, Don Arden, Black Sabbath’s early manager. When Paranoid came out, in 1970, she was about 18 and working as his receptionist.
Sharon’s first memory of Ozzy, he writes, was when he came into the office “with no shoes on”. His first memory of her was thinking, some time later, “Wow, what a good-looking chick.”
They eventually married (after Osbourne’s divorce)
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