Handkerchiefs at the ready – this is the grand finale. Part Fourteen:
My Dream of the Dream of Steven Patrick Morrissey by Raechel Leigh Carter, An Epilogue An attempt is made to kidnap Morrissey in Mexico but nobody back in the UK will hear about that because they don’t care and, anyway, the (sold-out arena) show must go on. When Morrissey falls ill during his run at the Roundhouse in London, some idiots called Jonathan Ross, David Walliams and Russell Brand try to take the stage and make a show of themselves (as usual) but it doesn’t go down well. Whilst Morrissey plays in Tel Aviv with the remaining New York Dolls, a woman and her three children are shot dead on the beach by a gang of youths. No one seems much bothered about this. Peter ‘Jason King’ Wyngarde writes a cryptic note to Morrissey. He still lives in the Kensington flat he shared for many years with Alan Bates; lucky bastard. He turns up backstage after Morrissey’s show at the Albert Hall and everyone is excited – who even knew he was still alive? Julie Burchill asks Morrissey to visit her at her scabby mansion flat near Russell Square. Russell Square used to be riddled with prostitutes, they’re long gone now – maybe they were scared off by Burchill’s ‘pitifully late-middle-aged legs’ and ‘whale-bearing hips’, not to mention her spiteful personality. Surprisingly Morrissey calls on her as requested – she spills tea on his groin and doesn’t even offer him a Rich Tea biscuit, tight bitch. Morrissey takes Burchill to task over a nasty article she wrote about Patti Smith and in return she writes in her article: ‘Morrissey lives with his boyfriend in Santa Monica.’ So what? Well, Morrissey never discussed sexuality or Santa Monica with Burchill. Morrissey imagines Burchill is dead – he can’t wait to attend her funeral and to jump into the grave, which surely will have to be humongous given her hefty size. But nonetheless he finds her entertaining. Mikey Farrell leaves Morrissey’s band and for the first time he is sad at the departure of a musician. Mikey says mean things about Morrissey but they’re all true. Years of Refusal is recorded in 2009 with Jerry Finn, who dies from a brain haemorrhage at the young age of 38 and before the record is even released. When I’m Throwing My Arms Around Paris only charts at number 21, Morrissey goes to the beach at Los Cabos and sulks. A pelican is dying on the beach so Morrissey takes it back to his hotel and asks if they can call a vet to have it put out of its misery; he will pay the bill. Spring 2010 Morrissey is in the South of France and involved in an accident in the hotel spa steam room – the steam room door (glass) explodes in his face. He could have died. Morrissey goes on about Kirk Douglas and how to arrange your groin when sitting. There is so much pollution in Mexico City that Morrissey has to have steroids injected into his arse. An earthquake means they have to flee the Puebla venue – Morrissey runs out of the building barefoot. He could have died, I tell you, he could have died. Or at the very least he could have trodden on a piece of grit, which doesn’t half come keen when you are shoeless. The US government are all bastards. Morrissey is no more unhappy than anyone else. The story concludes.
I need no thanks for reading this on your behalf – do you know what, truly I do love Morrissey. He just needs to take Sparks’ advice and lighten up a bit.