Silly question, perhaps

Sunbags

Sunbags
I've always wanted to know if this actually happened, nothing would surprise me, really:

The door was ajar. Why not, I thought, and walked in. The flat appeared to be arranged on more than one floor and finding nobody on the first I climbed the stairs to the second.
In the distance I could hear the maddeningly addictive chorus of a song that had recently become a personal favourite. "Some girls are bigger than others, some girls' mothers are bigger than other girls' mothers." The words, hypnotically, repeated over and over.
Making my way down a long corridor discreetly decorated with oatmeal carpet and gilt framed oil paintings, I became aware of another noise, equally consistent, but cruder. The sound of rhythmic jumping perhaps.
It was obvious which room it was all coming from, but once at the threshold I hesitated... trying to weigh up the impact of such an intrusion. Really it was too late for second thoughts because by now I could see flailing shadows on the walls and the pounding seemed irresistable.
That reflection, caught in a huge, ornate mirror bordered either side by rich velvet curtains, was mesmeric. A mad whirl of florid material swishing out like a spinning umbrella. The figure turned dementedly on the spot and with each full revolution the toss of one foot hit the beat in time to the music.
Though the arms were both held high and arched, halfway between a ballerina and the highland fling one could clearly make out the flesh coloured wire of a hearing aid. I'd never seen Morrissey having such a wonderful time before. I'd never seen him grin like that.
I made one of those silly coughs you make to announce your presence... and your surprise.
"You're early!" he said, faintly put out. I calmed him with a flattering comment about his pearly white legs and as we both looked down remarked that he was wearing a tu-tu.
"Having some fun at last?" I ventured. Morrissey in "fun sensation" I thought to myself.
"If this ever gets out I'll kill you!" he snapped uncharacteristically. "Okay, okay," I replied, "as far as I'm concerned you wouldn't be caught embalmed in a tu-tu."
"That is neither here nor there," he assured me. "What matters... what matters is that I would never, ever, do anything as vulgar as having fun."
I decided to come back another time.

It's from this interview: http://foreverill.com/interviews/1986/mothers.htm
 
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