IT was a story that not even Max Clifford, the tabloid's favourite publicist, could dream of Even the timing was perfect. As Britain debated the ethics of multiple births and abortion, Mandy Allwood learned that she was carrying eight babies and immediately enlisted his services.

"I guess it is the sign of the times that the first person she contacted was her gynaecologist and the second was the PR man," says Clifford, as he attempted to field media calls while trying to organise sponsorship deals for Miss Allwood with baby food and disposable nappy companies.

It has been a long week for Clifford. Since Miss Allwood rang him, he has carefully orchestrated her media appearances, coaching her and feeding her lines, while playing down any aspect of her life that may be "unpalatable" to potential sponsors.

Being centre stage in the debate over abortion is not really Clifford's style, but he pledged to make Miss Allwood a millionaire - after his cut - and that's what he intends to do. The only real problem now is that if she miscarries any of the eight babies, as medical experts predict, then the money dries up.

"If four, five or six do die then you don't have something which is shattering in terms of worldwide news story. Obviously, it's market forces," he says matter of factly.

Clifford (53) is a social worker to the stars, or the "sleazeball's sleazeball" depending upon your point of view. According to the Guardian, he has "done more than Maxwell and Murdoch combined to encourage censorship of the press".

AFTER all, Clifford is the man who has been behind nearly every major and minor scandal that has hit the headlines in Britain for at least the last 10 years. He was the adviser on those gym pictures of Princess Diana, infamously revived comedian Freddie Starr's career by "revealing" he ate a hamster, told the world that the former Tory minister, David Mellor, made love to his mistress wearing a Chelsea football strip, blew the gaff on Will Carling's secret trysts with Princess Diana and introduced Britain to Mr O.J. Simpson. And that's to name just a few.

He specialises in "creating incidents" which feed the tabloids' fetish for celebrity secrets, and editors just cannot resist buying. Despite later admitting that Antonia de Sancha never sucked Mr Mellor's toes as he wore his favourite team's kit, Clifford dislikes the word invent, preferring instead to say he occasionally indulges in a bit of poetic licence.

"I tell lies all the time. A big part of my work has been stopping scandals. I've been involved in four or five kiss and tell stories but I've prevented at least another 100 coming out," he says.

When Mr Mellor accused Clifford of "inventing the tastier titbits" of Lady Bienvendia Buck's role in the downfall of the Chief of Defence Staff, Sir Peter Harding, he hit back in typical acerbic style. "If I had David Mellor's looks and personality, I would be bitter and twisted as well. His personal attack on me stinks of hypocrisy, but that comes as no surprise," he retorted.

Clifford charges his clients between £2,000 and £5,000 a month for what amounts to an unmatched ability to feed the tabloid press and, more importantly, unparalleled protection from the subsequent onslaught.

Not surprisingly, the tabloids love him. He is their "Mr Fix it", and they are forced to fight among themselves for his tit bits.

Asked exactly what he thought of Clifford, one tabloid journalist laughed, before singing the publicist's praises and unrivalled skills. "Max sells newspapers, it's as simple as that. He knows what we want and he delivers the goods. Some people may be surprised to know that Max also has strong ethics," he said.

Clifford claims he protects more clients than he promotes, particularly gay stars who are unwilling to come out, and, according to the tabloids, he will often tip off a victim if he does not approve of the story. Ever the soul of discretion, Clifford explains: "Sometimes I've had to run upstairs, push a client into the wardrobe and get into bed with his girlfriend."

Although he describes himself as anti establishment, with many of his best known victims being Tory MPs, Clifford has repeatedly refused to represent Capt James Hewitt, who is in dire need of advice on how to resurrect his image after telling the world he slept with Princess Diana.

"He saw himself as a knight in shining armour who had come to the rescue when Charles had destroyed Diana. He was the man who had put a smile back on her face and a twinkle in her eye. But I didn't see it that way. To me Hewitt was a bounder of the first order," argues Clifford.

Clifford's father, an electrician, was a strong socialist, who was ostracised by his wealthy family for his views. Born in 1943, Clifford and his three brothers were raised in a small terrace house in Wimbledon, south west London, which had an outside toilet and a tin bath hung on the back door.

He left school at the age of 15, with as he says "not much more than a degree in street cred" to work in a department store selling soft furnishings, which he despised. After joining his local newspaper, Clifford made a name for himself by blatantly publicising his own pub disco and writing rave reviews about his footballing skills.

WHEN offered a job in PR at the EMI record company, he immediately accepted, and began promoting his first clients' new single Love Me Do, by a little known group called The Beatles. Other early beneficiaries of the Clifford touch were Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Tom Jones and the Bee Gees.

In the 1980s, he quit rock PR because it had become "boring" and established himself as "a oneman production line" for the tabloids. Apart from his show business clientele and bimbos selling their kiss and tell memoirs of a one night stand, Clifford also promotes several international firms. He also works for a number of charities for free.

Despite his wealth ("I earn a comfortable six figure sum"), there are no obvious trappings. He lives in a modest semi detached house in Raynes Park, south London, with Liz, his wife of 29 years, and their daughter, Louise, who is severely disabled with rheumatoid arthritis.

Every night Clifford's last task is to carry his 25 year old daughter upstairs to her bedroom. "When your daughter has been on a life support machine, it tends to put things into perspective," he says.