I finished the Morrissey autobiography which I bought despite not being a Morrissey fan. Why did I buy it? Firstly, because it was was hugely reduced in Tescos and secondly because I opened it at random and read a scurrilous character assassination of a humble (fat) benefits adviser. I was immediately enthralled. Morrissey was in his teens when he encountered this unfortunate woman. I am very glad that I no longer carry the many humiliations that I experienced in my teens. Or do I still? Maybe that is what is wrong with me.
I could not put this book down. It fascinated me that one man could bear so many grudges, for so long and carry them with him all his days to add grist to his genius. Thankfully I never encountered Morrissey for it would be painful to read this book and find a sentence or two of barbed commentary had I inadvertently caused him offence. Curmudgeon he might be but from this account I found myself liking him a lot. Now I must get back to his music. Better late than never.
