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.