That charming man


I saw a documentary we had recorded about Morrissey yesterday. Oh what nostalgia! I used to love The Smiths when I was a teenager, and have vivid memories of the carnage caused by my first boyfriend dancing Morissey-style at discos — all whirling-arms, spinning body and baggy trousers. As far as I recall, he never went as far as having a bunch of daffodils in the back pocket of his jeans. Still, it really was something to behold, and the memory makes me smile even now. I don't listen much to The Smiths any more, though whenever I hear any of their songs, I can't help singing along. The combination of Morissey's biting, acerbically-witty lyrics and Johnny Marr's heavenly, jangling airy guitar was sublime.

The interviews with the man himself made me think that I probably wouldn't like him much if I met him (he's seemingly fabulously bitchy and judgemental about everyone around him), but I admire him hugely for one thing other than his music. He resolutely refuses to reveal any private information about himself, thus going entirely counter to current fashion. He quite rightly thinks that his private life is no-one's business but his own, and he said at one point that he just doesn't give a damn what anyone else thinks about him — he knows who he is, and there isn't anything that anyone could think about him that would bother him in the slightest.