Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Years of Refusal.

Alright, it was Quinoa. It said Quinola in the recipe. I’ve never heard of Quinoa or Quinola (which doesn’t exist) so I’m afraid I stupidly took Sainsbury’s at its cack-handed word. Wonder why 118 118 didn’t correct my spelling, though? I’ll ask Tom Bell.
My friend has just bought the latest Morrissey album. This makes me very, very happy indeed mainly because he has always hated Morrissey and throughout our friendship has made his feelings about Morrissey clear: he’s a dour, Manchunian, miserable cunt. There’s never been much point in me defending Morrissey either. If you don’t get him, you don’t get him. If you miss the fact that Morrissey is hilarious then, to me, you’re missing out on something very special indeed. But that’s OK. It helps me figure out that you’re an idiot all the quicker. My friend sent me a text telling me that his wife was out for the evening and he was about to buy his first ever Morrissey album. I loved the fact that he’s so embarrassed by coming out of the Moz-closet that he couldn’t do it with anyone else being in the house. I haven’t named my friend because I promised that I wouldn’t tell anyone. I now think of myself as the Harvey Milk of Morrissey fans. I know it’s tough to admit it, to yourself, parents, friends, etc. but you’re honestly not different. You’re just as much a person as anyone else and I am here to support you (camera pulls back to reveal Morrissey fan in a wheelchair).

Then, right after this BOMBSHELL, I found out that Morrissey appeared on The One Show. Is he finally being accepted (I mean, except for the thousands of people who openly accept him)?

Either way, I’m glad. I’m glad that my friend has decided to give in to his deep-rooted Morrissey lust and that the man himself is sitting plugging an album on primetime magazine programmes. All those new ears getting a chance to hear his latest album, so many new fans. Shame it’s not very good. Oh, well.

My feet are very old. Way older than me. They go to sleep early and wake up early. They are slow, forgetful and in constant pain. Yesterday was a horrible day for me and, if they weren’t senile and actually understood what was going on, my feet. I stood up and they immediately started aching. It was terrible. I knew what I had to do. I had to buy slippers. I fucking hate slippers. I’ve always said, to anyone that would listen, that I hate slippers but EVERY FUCKING CHRISTMAS I am swamped in pair upon pair of increasingly ugly slippers. They immediately go into a bag that I take to a charity shop. How I long for just one pair of those disgusting, horrible, beautiful slippers right now. I went to Marks & Spencer yesterday to buy a pair but, when it came to it, I was embarrassed and left empty footed. Foot pain is so extreme. There’s very little I do that doesn’t include my feet coming along with me. Obviously, I could go to the doctor and get them checked out but that is a sign of weakness and I will not be sucked into it. I must live every day in pain and agony and shame. I am a Morrissey fan.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Hello from the U.S.A. (St Louis to be exact)

Just wanted to say how much I enjoy your blog. Stumbled across it while googling a Brighton Rock reference out of boredom. You are quite gifted and I look forward to reading your posts.

Take care