I think the trick is also to never, ever, under any circumstances say anything that might be construed as intelligent. That would be terrible. TERRIBLE. I wish you luck in trying to find a sensible discussion on this site - you're gonna need it.
How do you know? Were you there?
Were you living in Morrissey's bins and collecting his half-eaten biscuits when nobody was looking? Perhaps he had industrial strength hairspray? Perhaps he sat in the car while Rourke went into the blouse shop with Mozza's list of 'Blouses what I want'?
There is really nothing you cannot turn your hand to, is there? A detective now too. Is there no end to your talents old boy?
What if it was raining heavily on that last trip to the blouse shop? And Morrissey was distressed as he couldn't gaze out upon the iron bridge (where he'd kissed)...
Jesus. Why not write his obituary now and be done with it? The Swindon thing could've been due to anything. And I think that simply for surviving all this time in the music industry he might just be a little tougher than some people choose to believe.