Tuesday, 19 July 2011
For those of you who say I've lost my sense of humour...
I bought that blackboard myself here in Germany. I might even bring it out on to the stage one evening...
Posted by Morrissey at 06:06 3 comments My Live Tour Journal 2011
July 12th-18th
These days drifted by like confetti thrown in the blackness of night. The funereal atmosphere around myself and the lads was entirely due to the malicious hate-campaign being waged against me by my own online fans. I don't think they comprehend how painful it is to dedicate your life selflessly to your fans; and to face such contempt from those whom you have stood up for over the many years - the lonely, the lost, the disillusioned. Each man kills the thing he loves. Perhaps I should accept it as a perverse compliment? A part of my soul faded away during these days. A part of me died.
Stayed in bed for most of the 12th. Watched a DVD of 1970s 'Coronation Street' episodes I'd brought with me. Watched a bit of 'Jim Davidson's Big Break' too but broke down in tears during the pot black challenge with Ray Reardon. I was on my feet cheering as he got down for the pink. Raised a glass as he lined up the black and... same old story. Reminded me of the reviews for 'Years of Refusal' actually. Falling at the final hurdle. He missed the black; I tagged 'Ok By Myself' on the end of an otherwise classic album. Like myself, he's another who enjoyed his career peak in the Autumn of his life. A kindred spirit, a late blossomer. He's not quite Judd Trump or Ronnie O'Whitevan, of course, but he's still got it, old Ray. Don't dismiss him just because he's getting on a bit, will you? Cardinal error.
I have to say, Judd's potting at this year's world championship raised the bar in my humble opinion; pushed the game on to a new level. And that's an opinion I share with five-times world champion Steve Davis. Lovely victory over that Ding chap too. Now Ding's a funny fellow. His choice of a Lady Gaga song for his 'theme tune' was unintentionally hilarious. 'Mah p-p-poker face.' Someone ought to tell him he needs some professional PR advice, and I don't mean that in a racist sense. Morrissey's note**: Consider registering a private limited company for sports-related PR advice in 2012.
On the 13th, the lads were a bit worried about me. Boz phoned at lunchtime because I hadn't spent the entire morning scoffing at the veggie breakfast buffet. He asked if I was sick; 'no,' I replied. 'I'm sick of life though - if that counts.' Boz, Jesse, the one who sounds like stalker but isn't and that other medium-sized man came to my room, bringing with them a Swedish monopoly board. It was a lovely gesture. Of me, I mean. Letting them into the penthouse suite. They're all sharing a twin room, you know. The rhythm section are sleeping on the floor, apparently. Cheap skates. £100 a head we put down for the game. Couldn't believe it when Boz sold me the purples with hotels for 2 Kronor (the big oaf, no idea about exchange rates...) and Jesse looked away when I landed on his greens with three houses - twice. So distractable, that lad. Honestly, they have no idea. No business sense. Oh I had won before I had begun. Victory lifted one's bruised spirit - and made me £400 sterling into the bargain. It won't pay for my retirement, of course, but it will buy me a new mobile phone with bigger buttons and a better quality camera. Practicing one's facial expressions and poses in the mornings is so difficult with such a poor quality camera. And mirrors can be so misleading... Morrissey's note**: consider for b-side song title.
Had a quickie of monopoly on the Apple prior to the Aarhus gig. Went up to 'intermediate' level following my earlier crushing victory in real life Monopoly. Lost to the Hat, which of course was controlled by Joyce. B*****d. Twenty-eight glorious victories in a row, only to bollo**s it all up by moving up a level before I was quite ready. The defeat almost triggered a bout of clinical despair, actually. Naturally I wiped Joyce from my Apple and replaced him with Petridis in the AI profiles section. The principal irony being that neither of them have any intelligence whatsoever, yet are considered forms of 'Artificial Intelligence' by this plodding computer. Shows what computers know. Considered wiping my hard drive in disgust. Now I might not enjoy beating Petridis quite so much - but neither would hypothetical defeat to him be so utterly soul-crushing. At least I haven't lost to Vic Reeves yet. Felt a bit better as the chauffeur arrived to ferry me to the venue, safe in the knowledge that the northern parasite is out of my Monopoly life for the foreseeable future.
Spent the morning of the 14th updating the so-low chapter of the biog. The section on cyber bullying and online harassment is powerful stuff. Enough to melt the coldest of hearts. Speaking of which, does that man have a heart? Had a drink or three. Played a bit of Football Manager 2011. Added Joey Barton to my Manchester United squad. That will stiffen up the old midfield. None of this namby-pamby foreign nonsense. Barton, Smiffy and Carrick. Can't beat a bit of British beef, so to speak. Also transferred that Park Jung Si prick out to some obscure Spanish team (reminds me of you-know-who) and placed a bid for Cristiano Ronaldo as his replacement. I'd like to see Ronaldo spraying those balls into Javier Hernandez. Always a pleasure to watch a big man who can dribble playing in the hole behind a mobile young player, feeding it into him with real delicacy of touch. Lost to Benfica in the ECL quarter finals. Real Madrid rejected my £30 million bid for Ronaldo too. Bollo**s. Still, the future looks promising. British steel and continental silk. It's Hughes-Cantona all over again. And Barton's the new Roy Keen. I hope the fans take to him, despite the City connection. I expect he'll appear in the 'icons' section before the curtain comes down, along with Smiffy, whom I brought back from obscurity at the Magpies.
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