Total Pageviews

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

Day 615 - Dear Diary

(The scene is somewhere in California, possibly Escondido, possibly not! Morrissey is laying by a pool writing in a book. It is May 21st 2013.)

Dear Diary, since abandoning wet and windy England a month ago, I have been relaxing in the Californian sunshine, doing very little. England was depressing me SO very much, that I just had to get away. The media's canonization of Thatcher was bad enough, but HOW can I possibly recuperate from my endless list of illnesses in a country where the sky is grey, the people are grey, the buildings are grey, the cities are grey and worse of all, the entertainment business is grey. I have spent a lifetime feeling black, but I'm damned if I'll turn grey.

Oscar was SO right to turn his back on England, it was dying then, and it it is still dying now, and I know how it feels, but whilst my ailing body continues to defy all odds and carry on existing, I need somewhere to help it breath. If one of my endless list of illnesses IS serious, and I am nearing clocking off time, I may as well spend my final days in the sunshine. If nothing else, I'll meet my maker with the best tan he's ever seen.

I've given most of my staff some time off whilst I recuperate, although I have of course kept my hairdresser, Kevin Phillips on hand, after all, one can hardly sunbathe with a poor hairdo, I have standards to maintain you know! The other staff, such as Boz Boorer have been allowed to do their own thing, although I was rather annoyed when Boz arrived unannounced the other day, and after eating the contents of my fridge, he then set about lying by the pool in a pair of my trunks! He'd forgotten to pack any of his own, apparently. Needless to say that he stretched them beyond all recognition, so I have had to throw them away, not that I would have ever worn them again after 'he'd' been in them. Fat cunt.


BOZ BOORER, LEGS AKIMBO, RELAXING ON AN UNINVITED VISIT TO MY CALIFORNIAN HOME, IN 'MY' TRUNKS!



Since arriving in California, I have abandoned both my ridiculous blog thing, and have shut down all my twitter accounts. God only knows how I ever allowed myself to get sucked into such an utterly tedious existence. Boredom really is a plague, but thankfully I have managed to break myself away, and am confident that, once I have got my tan just to the right shade, I shall steer clear of such mind numbing blandness in the future, and will instead concentrate on my song writing genius.

It won't be long until another 'You Are The Quarry' style return is upon us, but this time with a punkier edge. I will reclaim my rightful place at the forefront of the popular music industry, and my next tour will be better than ever. I will put together a new collection of intro videos, I'll create new stage backdrops, and the new set list will be truly mesmerizing. At this moment in time, I have no s*dding idea what I am going to write songs about, but the tan is nowhere near finished yet, so no hurry. Anyway, the longer I'm away, the more I'll be missed, and the more they'll need me.

I thought that the blog thing of mine might have inspired me in the old song writing department, but it didn't, and it really should NEVER have happened, what WAS I thinking of? Luckily VERY few people ever thought it was me, so I can now lay it to rest and the unique otherness remains intact. Mind you, it was genius how I managed to convince everybody that it wasn't me, so perhaps I should make a very occasional reference to it, just to leave the seed of doubt. Can one 'leave' a seed of doubt, or can one only 'sew' a seed of doubt? Oh well, my seed is full of doubt whichever way.

I've been out to see a few concerts recently. Gwen Gaga, or whatever her name is, invited me to go and watch her 'perform' with the Rolling Stones at Staples. I really didn't want to go to, but Kevin Phillips, and the bass player chap from my band, whose name escapes me for now, were both very keen to go, as was cousin Robbie, if you'll forgive yet another of my keen puns, so I reluctantly said yes. I decided to go for a young Elvis look, dressed all in denim, and even though I do say so myself, I looked hot!

ME ON MY WAY TO SEE THE STONES. HAIRDRESSER CHAP TO THE SIDE (OUT OF SHOT) AND BASS PLAYER BEHIND.


Morrissey - Morrissey at the Rolling Stones Concert
ME PULLING MY FUNNY, 'I'M NOT INTERESTED FACE' THAT I SOMETIMES PULL ON STAGE (I HAVE TO SAY, THE OLD QUIFF LOOKS 'VERY' GOOD, AND I REALLY DO LOOK LIKE ELVIS. PLEASE NOTE THAT MY SHOES AREN'T SCUFFED, IT'S THE DESIGN!)

ME OR ELVIS? WHO CAN TELL!

I noticed a number of empty seats at Staples; not like when I played there and people were climbing over the walls to get in. Ms Gwendoline; who for some reason was trying to look like Madonna, sang 'Wild Horses' with Mick, at least, I think that's what they sang, although if I'm honest it was hard to tell, and it certainly wasn't a patch on Katie Boyle's version, although I was thoughtful enough to tell Gwendoline that I thought she was great. Sometimes the truth is best left unsaid. I think I must be mellowing with age. And on the subject of Katie Boyle, I think Mick borrowed his blouse from her, and now I come to think about it, their hairstyles are pretty similar too. I hope I don't start morphing into Jessie J.



SUSAN 'KATIE' BOYLE AND MADONNA


MICK JAGGER


Watching the Stones proved beyond doubt, that I still have so much more to give, and this was further reinforced by my trip to see Tom Jones in West Hollywood. He must be pushing 75 by now *googles Tom Jones - 73 in June, I wasn't far off*, so  I'm a whole generation younger than him! If the likes of Tom and Muck Jogger can still pull it off, it makes me wonder just how many more albums 'I' can squeeze out.

Jesse came along with us to watch Tom Jones, and he insisted on taking a photograph of me and Tom, which I have posted on TTY. Mel Gibson's in the photo too, but Jesse's photography is so poor, he's managed to make poor Mel look like Shane Richie, or is it Shane Warne? Either way, he looks like a Shane.

I've just remembered that Tom Jones is a 'Sir'. I haven't called him 'Sir' in my TTY caption, and I certainly didn't call him 'Sir Tom' when we met. Oh well, if I had called him 'Sir Tom', I'd have ended up sounding patronising, just like when I refer to 'Sir Paul' or 'Sir Elton', and I wouldn't have wanted to do that, I quite like Tom, and after all, any man who can give us 'What's New Pussycat?' HAS to be ok, not that he wrote it of course, it was a Bacharach and David song, but still. Maybe I should do a cover of 'What's New Pussycat?' on my next tour, or better still, I could cover the 'b' side from the original single, which as everybody knows, is called 'The Rose'. That would put the (pussy) cat among the pigeons, the Solowers would go crazy. Perhaps a bit too obvious though, even for them. ('The Rose' - Tom Jones: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFF-aSaRyjo).

Mel Gibson, Morrissey, Tom Jones
JESSE'S BLURRY PHOTO OF SHANE, ME AND 'SIR' TOM

I need to sign off now and concentrate on the old tan. A few of us are going out to the Cat & Fiddle later, to see in my birthday, so I'll have to get Kevin to sort my hair out. Tonight will be my last public outing for a while as I've become a little too sociable of late, and I'm in danger of damaging the mysterious otherness. A mysterious otherness doesn't just happen you know, it's an art form. Perhaps I WILL  give that blog of mine another airing..... hmm.

Moz