So, to 2015......

I’m sitting staring at my computer screen at work, finding it very hard to concentrate on doing anything productive. Bunged up and fed up with a cold that’s not bad enough for you to stay at home and not light enough for it not to bother you constantly. It’s that annoying time between Christmas and New Year where you don’t know what to do with yourself. It’s a limbo. It’s not Christmas anymore, but it’s not the New Year yet. There’s no one at work but you and a few other people who didn’t have enough holiday to take the time off. A four day weekend is within touching distance but yet also just out of reach.

I’m listening to Idlewild and Roddy Woomble in anticipation of the new Idlewild record next year, the first song from it, Collect Yourself, is a fantastic face slap with a guitar hook reminiscent of bagpipes.
Subsequently, from searching for a stream or something of Collect Yourself, having only heard it on the radio, I have stumbled across Roddy’s solo stuff, which is really quite good, and a spell binding version of "The Quiet Crown" from 2000's 100 Broken Windows at a Radio Scotland session.

The nirvana that is 29th-31st gives you an opportunity to look forward to the new year, or dread it arriving. 2015. It looks clean. It's a futuristic date.

I get married in 2015. Within 24 hours of saying "I do" i turn 34. That does sound like an old age. 34. Thirty four! THIRTY FOUR!! I think it'll be time I officially announce my retirement from professional football.

I read those tips for the new year same time every year (funnily enough) and the names go over my head. The BBC list of acts and bands to look out for didn't exist when I was younger, but this scrambling to second guess who will have a year to remember seems pretty pointless to me.

Either they are way wide of the mark or they have been told to put them on the list by an A&R team from one of the big labels and they have the budget the size of a small countries economy to play with. Of course they'll have a great year as we won't be able to escape them and those who listen to Radio 1 and do as they're told will buy it, download it, steal it but buy the autobiography out in time for Christmas.

My finger isn't on any music pulse, but I do know some brilliant artists and bands are releasing records next year.

Menace Beach's debut album, Ratworld, hits the proverbial shelves mid January and if you picked up their EP, Lowtalker, in early 2014 you'll know it's going to be brilliant. The very awesome Desperate Journalist also physically release their first album in the year's first month. If you like The Smiths, Morrissey and 80's indie, you'll love this lot.

Ryan Adams is releasing a 7" with Johnny Depp in February which is going to be very interesting. It's limited edition but I managed to bag myself one early doors.

March is already chock-a-block with LP's. The master, Mr Noel Gallagher releases his second solo record, Chasing Yesterday, Laura Marling is primed with her 5th album, Short Movie, and Idlewild are back with that new one, Everything ever written.

It's bloody exciting.

On top of this, I'm off to Manchester in February to see Elbow on their "Theatres" tour, do a load of old and rare stuff. Hurrah.

Then in March it's to Norwich to watch Royal Blood as they bludgeon my ears to death, and then Stornoway will sooth them back to health in Reading.

Tickets are also booked for Victorious Festival in Southsea. So far only Basement Jaxx have been confirmed for that, but never mind, if last year is anything to go by, there'll be a myriad of brilliant bands past and present to allow me to avoid them.

Anyway, as I said to my work mates when I left this afternoon, "Happy New Year, fuckers".

How I discovered Morrissey (it wasn't the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that brought us together)

I began writing this blog post on Wednesday evening, but ran aground with a lack of flow and inspiration.

I abandoned it until this afternoon (Saturday) when I picked the baton again and continued from where I left off.

It rolled off the tongue, back inside my head, down the my arm and out of my fingertips.

If I do say so myself, it was masterpiece. Of course, I would say so myself, and I can only be the person to say so as no one else has read it, because for some reason, the hosts of this blog did not save my blog when I pressed "Save" and it did not publish my blog when I pressed "Publish".
Due to both of these failing, the whole thing was lost. I was not happy.

The laptop was slammed shut and thrown across the room (or put on the floor slightly firmly that usual). I had a few errands to run so I left the house and got the bus into town.

I've been home for a while now and have just opened the laptop again, and deleted everything I wrote on Wednesday. I thought about trying to recapture what I had written a few hours ago but it would have fallen short. In a pique of frustration and rage the old has gone and, indeed, the moment.

I spoke lavishly and flowerily (Gladioli-ily) about Morrissey. My journey this year of discovering his extensive and incredibly special back catalogue. About buying his autobiography and 'Greatest Hits'. About starting the book and listening to CD a few times. About leaving the book on the shelf for a few months and only picking up again after the first few tracks from 'World Peace is none of your business' were released, and I was in a field in France with wine and cheese and bread (I even said fromage and pain, there were some great prose).

I banged on about my return and purchasing of 'Vauxhall & I', 'Your Arsenal', 'Viva Hate' and then 'WPINOYB' on vinyl.

I then extolled our protagonists finer points and compared them to my own faults (depending on how you look at them).

I went on to describe the O2 gig and how stupendous it was. Morrissey, Christ like, all in white. The majestic early cuts (Suedehead, Everyday is like Sunday, Speedway), the classic Smiths (The Queen is Dead, Meat is Murder and the spell binding Asleep). I did say that some other oldies would have gone down well, such as 'Tomorrow', 'Last of the International Playboys', 'National Front Disco' and 'Glamorous Glue', unlike the O2 Grill's Spicy Bean Burger.

It was riveting stuff.

Alas, it was not to be. I could have re-written it, but I feel it would have been sub-standard. A poor imitation that would not have done Morrissey justice.

Instead, Heaven knows I was miserable then. I went out and mingled with the great un-washed and felt thoroughly filthy. The misanthropy that we share, Me and Moz, Moz and I, was prevalent, and positively brimming over. You see I am a miserable bastard. Moody and mardy. I see in him a kindred spirit. I would go out tonight, but I just don't want to. To many people. I have a small, close nit group of people I would describe as friends, and a large group of people I regard as strangers.

I'm sure there are people that I would like, I just don't know them. Some may say that I need to go and find them, but I would have to swim through the trash to find them.

Dear reader, I would like to think we could be friends, or even are (or maybe, were, after reading this). You may need to tell me.

I think that might be how Morrissey is. He is certainly moody and mardy, but also marvellous and magnificent.

Eccentric, unique and a change from the norm. He is an inspiration to the socially disenfranchised.

Life is a pigsty, but now my heart is full.