I pad through our bedroom to the huge en suite that Ozzy reckons is about the same size as the entire downstairs floor of the terraced house he grew up in. At one end of it is a door leading out to our private patio, where the sun is reflecting off the water in our cute à deux hot tub. Have we ever been in it? Have we fuck. Nice to have it though, eh? And the birds like to wash themselves in it.
I walk round the side of the house to the swimming pool, where I find Ozzy doing a sedate breaststroke.
‘It’s so fucking hot, I had to cool down.’
The temperature is nudging ninety degrees now, and when you dress in as much black as Ozzy does, it probably feels like twice that.
‘Why don’t you get dry, Dadda, and we’ll go to the hotel coffee shop for an iced drink?’
Sure, I could make him an iced drink here, but my new mission is to get Ozzy out of the house as much as I can. It helps that the kids don’t live with us any more, because every so often we hop in the car and visit them, something he never complains about.
And last week it was our thirty-first wedding anniversary. I flew to LA from filming the X Factor auditions in Cardiff, Ozzy met me at the airport and we drove to Laguna Beach for the weekend with Rocky and Bella. It was glorious. We just walked along the beach, had massages and hung out together, enjoying each other’s company. And he bought me a beautiful gold and diamond necklace.
What a contrast to last year, and that seemingly interminable day of hell in a New York hotel room. It’s amazing how, in just one year, our marriage has gone from that to this. At the time, I would never have believed it possible.
We talked about it a little bit, but he doesn’t remember much because he was so out of his mind at the time. He never brings the subject up, but when I do, he no longer bats me away, and he accepts that his behaviour was reprehensible. That’s a breakthrough, too.
I hand him a towel and head back into the house to find my handbag while he dries himself off.
The beauty, and the price, of this new house is that it’s just one block away from the world-famous Beverly Hills Hotel, an iconic pink and green building that has played host to countless A-list celebrities over the years. One of its regulars was the famously reclusive Howard Hughes, who would have staff leave him roast-beef sandwiches in the crook of the tree outside his secluded bungalow room in the grounds so he didn’t have to talk to anyone. I reckon my husband would do that if I let him.
Five minutes later, me and Ozzy buzz ourselves out of the electric side gate and on to a deserted North Crescent Drive. This is an area that oozes wealth and, consequently, all the houses are of South Fork dimensions – except for ours – and no one walks anywhere.
Oh, hang on, did I say the road was deserted? Correction: here comes another bloody tour bus, with some numpty on a Tannoy wittering on about who lives where. Except that most of them have moved out long ago, and the mugs in the bus are none the wiser.
We were driven out of our home on Doheny Drive by them. Our fault, I know, because it was the house we filmed The Osbournes in. But it was quite close to the road and we suffered interminable Tannoy noise all day long, from early morning until late at night. There are no restrictions on them in LA, so they can do the hours they want.
We sold the house to Christina Aguilera, who stayed there for seven years, presumably with earplugs in, and she’s now sold it to someone else and moved further out.
We set off down the hill and Ozzy, who is carrying my bright orange tote for me, spots the tour bus and literally throws the bloody thing at me.
‘I’m the Prince of Fucking Darkness. I can’t be seen carrying a fucking handbag.’
As the open-topped minibus approaches, I can hear the tour guide saying something about Gloria Swanson and Milton Berle, who both lived near here when Moses was a boy, then watch with amusement as one of the occupants clocks Ozzy and starts pointing and shrieking. They can’t believe they are seeing an actual living, breathing celebrity.
Suddenly, they’re all crushed to one side of the bus, snapping away as Ozzy picks up a walking speed I didn’t know he possessed and disappears over a small hedge that borders the grounds of the Beverly Hills Hotel.
On our return, we are greeted with: ‘Mum, where the fuck have you been?’
It’s my darling, searingly direct daughter Kelly who has arrived with fiancé Matthew for lunch to find no one home. She’s standing in front of the wine rack in the kitchen, stocked solely with small bottles of Evian, hands on hips and glaring at me.
‘Me and Dadda went to the coffee shop and got lunch.’ I hold up one of two Beverly Hills Hotel distinctive striped carrier bags, stuffed to the top with salads, club sandwiches, fries and various sauces. I see her indignation deflate slightly.
The buzzer for the main gate sounds. Lisa has arrived with the precious cargo we’ve all gathered to see: the delicious Pearl. She’s such a genial child, so chilled yet so enquiring. Ozzy marvels at how quickly she learns things and, just like every other devoted granddad, tells anyone who’ll listen how intelligent she is. She even managed to switch on the television the other day, which impressed him no end.
‘Pearly girl!’ I lift her into the air and kiss the end of her cute button nose, pulling her into my side, her nappy-clad bottom resting on my hip.
We wander inside. Kelly and Matthew clear the kitchen table of Ozzy’s paints and drawing pads, while Lisa straps Pearl into her highchair and I tip all the salads and sauces into various bowls.
Placing the cutlery on the table, I sit down next to Lisa who is chopping up bits of carrot, tomato and broccoli for Pearl, who is wolfing it down. They are all chatting animatedly about something they have seen on the celebrity website TMZ that morning, and I take the opportunity just to sit back, study them all and let my mind flow with rare, uninterrupted thoughts. Whenever I do this, I always think of all the things I should have done but didn’t. Perhaps now it’s time to make sure I don’t do the same in the future.
You forget so much of your life and the road you’ve taken to get to where you are, but now I’m sixty, I find myself reflecting more. I think about the milestone events, the people who have drifted in and out of my life, the people I’ve lost to illness and the good friends I have gained.
And the battles. Oh my God, always fighting with someone about something. People used to write things about my husband, or my kids, and I would go insane. When you’re younger, you think you can fight the world, but now I know you can’t. There’s good and there’s bad in life, and there’s not a damned thing you can do to change that. Even to try is so draining. But if you say anything nasty about my husband or my kids to my face, I’ll probably still belt you.
When my father died, all the fights he’d had, the business deals he’d got himself in such states about, the fancy cars and houses he owned depending on whether he was bankrupt that week or not… at the end, his life boiled down to that room in the Belmont rest home in LA. Everything else was history. Besides, the cruelty of Alzheimer’s had robbed him of his past anyway. He couldn’t remember any of it. At the end of your days, it’s all about who cares enough to be standing there when you take your last breath. It’s all about family.
And yes, my family is complex, dramatic, irreverent, unorthodox… but God, I love them.
All my life I have been pursuing something. Be it the next business deal, the next house or the next miracle beauty treatment for eternal youth. But now, the chase is over and I am finally starting to feel something close to contentment. That doesn’t mean my life is perfect, far from it. It simply means that I have grown to accept the flaws I can’t change, and do something about the ones I can.
‘Do you know what, Sharon?’ Ozzy said to me the other day. ‘It feels like we’re on the last ten minutes of our lives.’
He’s right. And I’m going to slow down, sit back and make the most of every last second of it.
Biblidography
Bella
Bella is top dog after the death o
f Minnie, and goes absolutely everywhere with me. She is registered as a service dog because of all the illnesses I’ve had, so she can sit on my lap on a commercial flight. She is an apricot-coloured Pomeranian and she is three years old. I bought her from a breeder in North Carolina and Kelly flew to get her. When her hair is cut short, she looks like a very cute Disney pussy cat. Some people say she looks like Boo, the famous Pomeranian they call ‘the cutest dog in the world’ and who has her own Facebook page. Bella has a bizarre habit of running and hiding when someone she doesn’t know comes into the room, then barking hysterically when they leave. She might be tiny and girly, with her pink sparkly collar, but she snores like a trooper. It drives Ozzy mad because she sleeps at the bottom of our bed each night.
Rocky aka Rock Star
Rocky is Ozzy’s dog and he wears an Ozzfest bandanna round his neck to confirm the fact. When Ozzy is home, Rocky is never far from his side. He’s also three years old and came from the same breeder as Bella, but from a different litter. He is black and brown with long hair and is the worst guard dog in the world. Anyone could walk into the house and he just wouldn’t care. He also sleeps with us, but lies on our heads. He likes to eat my hair.
Bunny
A ginger Pomeranian who is four years old. I got her from a breeder in Miami. We were on holiday there when I saw an advert in the local paper, and that was it. She’s neurotic and quite hyper, so she’s all over you like a rash and always moving around. She sometimes sleeps with us, but it gets a bit noisy in there because Bella and Rocky bark at her every time she moves, which is most of the time. So Ozzy invariably ends up kicking her out.
Liberty, aka Libby
I bought her at a pet store in New York last summer (2012). She was my comfort buy after the horrible America’s Got Talent experience. She’s part Maltese, part Shih Tzu, and is gorgeously white and fluffy. I don’t usually buy from pet stores any more, because all the dogs I have bought in one tend to have health problems and cost you a fortune in vet bills. But in a way I felt like I was liberating her. She’s a very submissive, low-key dog who just likes to be cuddled. She also comes into bed sometimes. The top dogs bark at her, but she doesn’t fight back, she just disappears under the covers.
Puff
Another Pomeranian, she’s white with apricot-coloured ears. She’s four years old and she’s a rescue dog that Aimee found online. She is very timid. She just licks you all the time, seeking reassurance and love. Which, of course, in this dog-mad house of ours, she gets in abundance.
Storm
A white husky we rescued from Aspen seven years ago. She was about seven when we got her, so she’s quite an old lady now. A friend of mine was on holiday skiing and called to say she had seen this sleigh dog that was about to be put down because her back legs had gone. She wanted to know if I would have her, and of course I said yes. Her legs are really bad now, so she can’t walk for long and sleeps a lot. But she still has so much love to give and she’s a gorgeous, serene dog. She has a disconcerting habit of making this haunting howling noise, but it’s not pain, it’s like a call to the wild.
Two Face
She’s seven years old and is meant to be a Pomeranian but I reckon there’s a bit of something else in there too. I got her from a rescue centre after an Amish puppy farm just outside Philadelphia had been raided. Boy, can she run and jump, so I suspect she might be part Australian shepherd, too.
Charlie
He’s a Yorkshire terrier and is three years old. We bought him at an auction for Holly Robinson Peete’s charity. She had got him from a rescue home when he was a puppy. He is such a character. He’s like the Artful Dodger from Oliver, and I rather think he would suit a jaunty little cap. I might buy him one for Christmas. He’s into everything, always jumping up and running around with his tongue hanging out. He has bonded with Two Face, and they do everything as a team.
Crazy Baby
The old lady of the family. She’s sixteen years old now and is blind and deaf. She’s a Japanese Chin and we bought her at a pet store in the Beverly Center, which has now closed down. Her character is very much like a cat, a little bit neurotic and superior. All the other dogs are always giving her such shit, but she doesn’t seem to bother. She gets the prefix because she used to come into a room and go crazy over nothing, like a cat that has seen a ghost.
RIP
Lola
Lola was a bulldog and such a huge part of The Osbournes. She was very famous, and you could even buy a doll of her. She was Jack’s dog and, when she died, I asked him if he thought he could ever replace her. He said he didn’t need to because he has his daughter, Pearl, and that he could never love a dog the way he loves her. Lola was thirteen when she died, which, for the breed, is almost a world record. Usually it’s ten years and you’re done.
Minnie
Died July 2008. As explained in Chapter 2, she was my absolute darling and my best friend. Say no more.
Maggie
Died 2013. A Japanese Chin like Crazy Baby, she was seventeen when she died. We got her at the Beverly Center pet store and she had many health problems but, against the odds, managed to reach old age. Her ashes are in a pot on the living-room fireplace, next to Minnie’s.
Picture Credits
Integrated images
Chapter 1 — Getty Images
Chapter 2 — Rex/Mr. JCY
Chapter 3 — Freemantle Media/Fox Broadcasting Company
Chapter 4 — Redferns
Chapter 5 — CBS via Getty
Chapter 6 — CBS via Getty
Chapter 7 — WIREIMAGE
Chapter 8 — Getty Images
Chapter 9 — © Lisa Osbourne/Instagram (mrslisao)
Chapter 10 — © Lisa Osbourne/Instagram (mrslisao)
Chapter 11 — © Sharon Osbourne/Twitter (@MrsSOsbourne)
Chapter 12 — Neil Preston/Corbis
Chapter 13 — © Brian Aris
Chapter 14 — REX/Zelig Shaul
Chapter 15 — WIREIMAGE
Chapter 16 — REX/ Ross McDairmant Photography
Biblidography
All images from author’s personal collection, except Lola – © Jack Osbourne/Twitter (@jackosbourne)
Plate Sections
Section 1
Page 1 — Getty Images
Page 2 — Top: REX/Ken McKay
Bottom: REX/Ken McKay
Page 3 — Top: Author’s personal collection
Bottom left: Author’s personal collection
Bottom right: © The Talk/Instagram (thetalk_cbs)
Page 4 — Top: Getty Images
Bottom: Getty Images
Page 5 — Top: ABC via Getty Images
Bottom: ABC via Getty Images
Page 6 — Top: ABC via Getty Images
Bottom: Getty Images for VH1
Page 7 — Top: © Ross Halfin
Bottom: © Ross Halfin
Page 8 — Top: Getty Images
Bottom: Getty Images
Section 2
Page 1 — Top: TalkbackTHAMES/Rex Features
Middle: NBC via Getty Images
Bottom: NBC via Getty Images
Page 2 — Top: WIREIMAGE
Middle: Getty Images
Bottom: Getty Images
Page 3 — Top: CBS via Getty Images
Bottom: CBS via Getty Images
Page 4 — CBS via Getty Images
Page 5 — Top: Mirrorpix
Bottom: © Jack Osbourne/Twitter (@jackosbourne)
Page 6 — Top: Neil Preston/Corbis
Bottom: © Brian Aris
Page 7 — Top: © Brian Aris
Bottom: © Brian Aris
Page 8 — Top: © Mark Weiss
Bottom : © Mark Weiss
Section 3
Page 1 — © Brian Aris
Page 2 — Clockwise from top left: Kelly, Jack and Pearl – © Kelly Osbourne/Instagram (kellyosbourne); Ozzy and Pearl – © Lisa Osbourne/www.raddestmom.com; Lisa and Sharon – Everett Collectio
n/Rex Features; Sharon and Pearl – © Lisa Osbourne/www.raddestmom.com; Sharon and Pearl (centre) – © Lisa Osbourne/Instagram (mrslisao)
Page 3 — Top: Getty Images Entertainment
Bottom: Getty Images Entertainment
Page 4 — Top: Time & Life Pictures/Getty Images
Middle: Getty Images
Bottom: The Sun News Syndication
Page 5 — Top: Splash/Corbis
Bottom: WIREIMAGE
Page 6 — Top: Ray Burmiston
Bottom left: FilmMagic
Bottom right: David Fisher/Rex Features
Page 7 — Top: Brian J Ritchie/Thames/Rex Features
Bottom: FilmMagic
Page 8 — Getty Images
With my crazy, beautiful family, hosting the 2008 Brit Awards at Earl’s Court, London.
Dannii and I put on a united front for her first live X Factor show, but backstage it was a completely different – and very explosive – story.
Only weeks later, the alliances on the judging panel were clear for everyone to see.
As if the bad atmosphere on The X Factor wasn’t enough to deal with, Minnie – my best friend and companion for so many years – died in 2008. I was heartbroken.
Me, Minnie and Maggie in our glory days.
Unbreakable: My New Autobiography Page 20
