Friday, 26 August 2011
Denial only magnifies desire; restraint breeds self-respect. Yet how I wish I could simply live. To wish for and to have not is my lot in life. This is why I write. Would you have it any other way?
When I wrote the words ‘I want the one I can’t have and it’s driving me mad, it’s written all over my face’ I had no idea of what lay ahead, though I assumed it would be bleak and not very bright. When you’re in your twenties, melancholy is touching, love seems real and the purpose of life is simply to escape; where one escapes to matters less than the act itself. Having parachuted myself out of my twenties, I now find myself somehow in my fifties landing gracelessly on a traffic cone: escape is no longer a feasible option. I am me, like it or not, like me or not. Blessed with the wit to ask myself all the wrong questions, I quickly realised that to look at oneself is to dislike oneself. After three lifetimes of soul-searching I have discovered the solution is simply to avoid all mirrors.
Authorship of the blog has now been handed over to another, and so I am appointed a circus act: the truth masquerading as satire. Written more plainly and – stripped of all wit, irony and intrigue – the site goes from strength to strength as hundreds flock here by the day. The prosaic prose and verbose platitudes darken one’s spirit of course but, after all, it is a crude world, and this site was much too sophisticated. How easy it would have been to encourage Russell or Jonathan, or perhaps Walliams or Gervais to mention my little old blog - in passing of course - on their twotter accounts: thousands would have flocked here like EU migrants to the NHS; quiet mentions in the tabloid gossip columns; monetization, as ever, just around the corner. So instead I have banned them all from discussing it, with the threat of a lifetime concert ban. It’s more fun this way.
Operating through Youtube, Twotter and Blogger and Facebook, my intention is to be the new Justin Bieber; where he catered to the low class, low aged and the low-brow, I shall appeal to the middle class, middle aged and middle-brow. When Justin sang at a Water Park in 2009 in front of forty-two girls and a middle aged man with his pet Jack Russell Buster in the pouring rain, did he imagine he would have 17 million Facebook followers by his sixteenth birthday? This low-key beginning to my ‘new media revolution’ is necessary for my fans’ future sense of ‘ownership’ over the Morrissey phenomenon. It would be too easy simply to utilise my showbiz connections for publicity at this early stage – and misguided. By Old Mozzer’s 53rd, though, the royalty cheques will be flying in; by winter 2012, resurrected as the new Sinatra – the first truly global act for a global age - my place in pop history will be unassailable.
My aims and objectives are humble: when mummy traipses through Co-Op in early December 2012 with her four kids Ash, Destiny, Chai, and Lewis in his pram, overlooking the absurdly over-priced pain-au-raisin and instead selecting the cinnamon curl, my one hope is that she pauses just for a moment at the M section of the CD rack; her glassy eyes darting over Madonna and Michael Buble (should be under ‘B’ – idiots); she pauses, deep in thought. Then she opts instead to purchase her parole officer the Southpaw Grammar reissue for Christmas. Morrissey - in a supermarket? Is it really so strange?
Regarding the long delay in announcing one's tour dates, in all ordinary circumstances one would (one should) of course blame the record company but – being without a deal and stripped of anything vaguely resembling ‘management’ – I’m afraid I have no option but to blame my soon-to-be-former agent William Morris Endeavour. Naturally as this ‘new media revolution’ continues apace, I shall need nothing as dreary as a record label or tour promoter in a few months' time. I shall require just three things: This Blog, mesmerizing Youtube clips of my shirt-removal antics, and a Facebook page with its tentacles in every continent. Instead of the ritual humiliation of emailed record label negotiations over weeks, I shall own the label and I will terrorise the executives just as they have terrorised me. The blog did tell you there would be teasing and angry tears over this matter, did it not - even before Monday was out. Oh just another coincidence…
As coincidences mount like randy Bolivian street dogs, frenzied speculation – added to by the orchestrated interest of low artists such as Brand and Gervais – will spill over into the newspapers. Which of the celebrities currently visiting my blog in secret will talk first? Brand? Ross? David Walliams? Ricky Gervais? Kevin Pilkington? Stephen Hawking? Time will tell. It always does. By late 2011 I envisage front page headlines in England will focus almost exclusively on two matters: who will win The X Factor and who the Hell is the author of MorrisseysWorld? I have nothing much more to say, and therefore I shall say nothing much more. Suffice to say, when Barlow gets it in the neck from Cowellsy in mid-2012, I’m a shoe-in for the next Mr Nasty. You heard it here first.
Signed a Future X Factor Juror with much ironic positivity,
'Satire': Minutes of the 'Bans and Concert Ejections Committee (BCE) when considering Mr David Tseng's appeal against lifetime Morrissey concert ban'
Minutes Drafted and Posted by Michael Bracewell
Please send any complaints about Michael Bracewell's minutes to email@example.com - he is on a final warning for the quality of his minutes. Having not had a novel published for almost a decade, one would think he would show a little more care...
Saturday, 13 August 2011
While Morrissey has long since left the building, we (I am the site administrator) did think it would be a nice gesture to leave you with a short Q&A session we did a few days ago. This is a genuine session we held in the Dorchester with a couple of friends of Morrissey. Present were the following:
Iconic singer-songwriter Morrissey who has recently been compared to the poet Larkin and regularly invites comparison with such intellectual luminaries as Alan Bennett. Considered a poet by many, the famously reclusive star prefers to understate his many talents (animal rights activist, poet, businessman, board game legend, songwriter) by describing himself simply as a 'singer.'
Jonathan Ross: The only man in north London who thinks publicly admitting he's Jewish might hold back his TV career.
Russell Brand: What Bob Geldof's lovechild with Dot Cotton might have looked like, had he been the survivor of a botched backstreet termination attempt using an unravelled coathanger and a small bottle of white spirits (would look a bit like Peaches, actually, sans coathanger).
Boz Boorer: long-time guitarist and musical director of Morrissey's band.
Ross: Haha, this is a pretty nice suite you've got Mozzer...
Moz: Well, not bad... [chews on lower lip, looks mildly embarrassed/humble]
Brand: Very nice suite. Oh I say, a very nice suite... [wide eyes, overly-demonstrative hand movements]
Ross: Well you're just doing a European tour at the moment, Mozzer...
Moz: Yes, I know that Jonathan. It is my tour... [looks bewildered]
Ross: Haha Mozzer. Well this is all going very well, as Adrian Chiles once said...
Brand: Going very well. Very well indeed.
Moz: Russell, may I proffer a few words of advice?
Brand: Please do, Morrissey. You know how I appreciate your wise words, your very wise words...
Moz: Well simply repeating the last two words said by somebody else in a slightly deranged voice might pass for 'entertainment' on the television, but it won't wash with my audience; remember what you did at the Roundhouse? Let's not make this the Roundhouse mark II. Pay attention to how it's done, Russell. There's a method in my madness, you know...
Brand: Method, madness, method... [looks ashamed] ... OK Morrissey. Sorry I'll listen. It's so hard for me to control my manly urges around you, Morrissey...
Moz: [shakes head] Now are either of you gentlemen feeling a bit peckish?
Brand: Peckish? Oh yes, I say, peckish I am. I am peckish...
Moz: A simple yes or no would suffice...
Ross: Yes, but look what I've brought Mowwissey... [lifts box of 12 Krispy Kremes up from under chair]
Moz: Oh come now Jonathan. We're in the Dorchester here. We're not going to be dining on Krispy Kremes this afternoon... Boz...! Boz!
Boz: [shuffles into the room] Are you ready now, sir?
Moz: Why else would I be calling out your name Boz? [juts jaw out, imperceptible roll of the eyes]
Ross: Well you look lovely Boz in that Playboys t-shirt. [grins]... do you always
wear a uniform Boz?
Moz: Enough socialising, Boz. Haven't you got something to bring us? I'm not paying you by the hour to chat to my guests, you know...
Boz: Sorry, sir. [leaves the room]
Brand: Oh a man in a uniform, a man in a uniform...
Moz: Yes, I find the uniforms help to inform my backing musicians of their station in life. It's a much-maligned thing, the uniform; but frankly I wouldn't be without them... I've tried not having uniforms and my session musicians tend to get all uppity and make excessive demands of my time and money, and it's just not on, you know...
Ross: Really? [feigns an interest, checks his watch, wonders if Cheryl Cole will make a comeback at the knockout stage of UK X Factor]
Moz: Certainly. I find if the t-shirts refer to me, it helps reinforce the excellent relationship I enjoy with my musicians, that of capitalist to their prole. Remember the days when the capitalist was the heartbeat of the community and even provided slum housing for his employees to live in with their seventeen children and three terriers? That's the spirit I'm trying to rekindle... Actually that reminds me.... Boz!... Boz!
Boz: [pokes head round door] Yes sir?
Moz: Where's that little cap I bought for you, Boz? You should be wearing it: you're on duty at the moment, old boy. Come on, find that cap and put it on. I didn't buy it for the good of my health, you know...
Boz: [disappears and reappears in cap] How do I look, sir?
Moz: Well, you look like a fat c*nt in a French maid's outfit if I'm honest.
Ross: [laughs maniacally]
Brand: Fat c*nt, fat c*nt.
Moz [glowers at Brand]
Moz: No you do look fine really, Boz. You look very professional. Now where are 'the goods?'
Boz: Coming right up, sir.
Ross: I won't lie - I'm a bit excited Moz. 'The goods?' - sounds like we're in for a vewwy enjoyable afternoon.
Moz: Well, you could say that...
Brand: Well my left nostril's a vaccuum cleaner, I say, a right old hoover!
Moz: [looks confused, shakes head] Hurry up Boz. The way we're building it up, the reality is bound to disappoint...
Boz: [shuffles back into suite, holds out a silver platter] Three shop-warm Co-Op pain-aus-raisin, Sir...
Brand: [laughs inanely]
Moz: [turns to Brand] Is something amusing, Russell?
Brand: No, Morrissey, I was just thinking of something David Lynch said last week...
Moz: [rolls eyes, stares out of the window, nibbles on pain-au-raisin]
Ross: Well, this is gorgeous Mowwissey!
Moz: Jonathan, please don't speak with your mouth full. Your speech is bad enough with an empty mouth...
Ross: [sniggers, coughs]
Brand: Your speech is bad enough with an empty mouth...
Moz: Russell I'm going to tw*t you out in a f***ing minute-
Brand: No, Morrissey, no, I wasn't just repeating the words somebody else spoke... well I was but-
Moz: [stares, unconvinced]
Brand: I was actually thinking that sounds like the title of a Morrissey song. You're so eminently quotable Morrissey...
Moz: [nods] Well perhaps for a b-side... Boz...! Boz! Paper and pen, please...
Boz: Paper and pen, sir.
Moz: Don't hand it to me, Boz. Write this down, please.
Boz: Very good, sir
Moz: Your speech is bad enough with an empty mouth. Consider for b-side song title. Do you know something, Russell? I'm impressed. I never thought you had a pop mind...
Brand: [smiles sensually, flutters eyelids]
Ross: I can't believe I'm about to get rebuked on a Mowwissey record!
Moz: It's the least I can do, Jonathan. Now that you're a former star...
Ross: [laughs. Looks downcast]
Moz: Right, I think it's time to get started on the proper Q&A section now. Please pay close attention Russell. It's not just about how you say things - it's about the actual words being said. It's more science than art. Watch and learn, dear boy.
Ross: So I hear you're planning on stripping to the waist for the old Frinksters at the London shows, Mozzer. Didn't you pledge to strip at the Palladium if the seats were sold out?
Moz: Indeed I did Jonathan. Needless to say, those final few tickets simply flew out of the box office.
Brand: Well I bought four seating tickets in disparate locations for my many personalities, and I already had a ticket for the stalls.
Moz: Disparate? Poor choice of words, Russell. Where did you go to university again?
Brand: [looks dejected]
Ross: I bought a few myself. Desperate to see you shirtless once again, Moz. [ironic look in eyes]
Moz: It's an extraordinary phenomenon. These are fully-formed adults, and mostly male... it doesn't fit into any stereotyped heterosexual fantasy... [quick wave of the hand]
Brand: How does it feel being a sex symbol, Morrissey?
Moz: Well it's not as easy as it looks. Having the Frinksters comment on every curve of your pectoral muscles... luckily the old bod just about measures up...
Ross: Not many men could get away with stripping off at fifty-two, Moz...
Moz: [glowers at Ross, says nothing]
Ross: Moving on...
Moz: I personally think it adds a punk aesthetic to my live shows. I consider myself the natural heir to the punk crown. After all, I say what I want, I do what I want, I dress how I want, and I undress when I want...
Brand: So quotable...
Boz: And the music press say we can't play our instruments, which is what punk was all about...
Moz: Leave the self-effacing humour to those who can manage it, Boz.
Brand: Am I alone in thinking Jesse Tobias is a rather nuanced pop guitarist?
[awkward silence, seems to last for minutes, Morrissey looks at floor and nibbles on pain-au-raisin]
Ross: But Mowwissey... Will there come a time when you have to stop stripping off on stage? You know, like the Backstreet Boys; when they all hit thirty, they kept their shirts on... I think it was a cwedibility thing... you know, to convince their fans they were serious musicians, after all... [blinks a lot, looks terribly serious]
Moz: Oh come now, Jonathan. Is that an attempt at a serious journalists' question? One cannot compare a classic sex symbol such as myself to a bunch of skinny kids dancing to a backing track... and as it happens, I'm one of those who thought the Backstreet Boys ceased stripping to the waist much too early in their careers... Nick Carter could have been as big as me if he hadn't stopped and... where is he now?
Brand: Actually I think stripping to the waist adds credibility when you do it, if anything, Morrissey... [looks doe-eyed at his idol, curious about any insights the older man might have to offer]
Moz: Yes but you see I've always been credible. Therefore I have nothing to prove. [waves palm upwards] And frankly with all the middle aged people running about and turning up at my shows, the world is simply crying out for a middle aged sex symbol...
Moz: No titles in the workplace, Boz...
Boz: But sir, you told me to call you-
Moz: -I insist, Boz. [faint, uncomfortable laughter]
Boz: Very well. I was going to ask, Moz, how do you manage to remain in such amazing shape as you approach your very late forties?
Moz: Excellent question, Boz. I put it down to being a vegetarian...
Ross: Don't you ever eat meat by accident? Surely just once you've accidentally ingested a bit of BBQ chicken wing that fell off the barbecue and landed on your slice of aubergine?
Moz: Well as it happens I was in Pizza Hut the other day and discovered a bacon bit in my mound of iceberg lettuce... the fascists at that US Corporation will use any tactics to get you to buy a Hawaiian pizza... they probably knew it was me and thought they could subvert my instincts by hiding it in there... convert me to eating meat then get me to advertise their product on the television... I was in disguise but... well, there's only so much you can do to disguise this face. [nods arrogantly]
Moz: I'm not sure I see the funny side, Jonathan.
Brand: I read on your blog you've become a Justin Bieber fan, Morrissey [looks up with anticipation at the next Wildean quip to be unleashed but also anxious not to be insulted again by the infamously acid tongue of a professional wit]
Moz: Oh that's been overstated. I admired his satirical live DVD. I'm certainly no great fan of his music.
Brand: [sings Baby baby baby yeah i'm like baby baby baby no i'm like baby...]
Moz: See that's what I mean. Why write lyrics like that? As I always say to aspiring pop writers - never repeat words. There are so many fascinating words to use, there's simply no excuse for repeating the one word baby eighteen times in a single chorus...
Ross: [glancing at lyric sheet to Bieber CD lying on the coffee table] sixteen, seventeen, eighteen... Haha rumbled Mozzer! You are a fan - he uses the word Baby exactly eighteen times in the chorus!
Moz: [smiles, brushes quiff back] As I always say to aspiring writers, there are so many mesmerizing words... there's never a need to repeat a word unnecessarily and if you really are completely out of ideas, simply sing a few 'Las' as I did on my latest song 'The Kid's a Looker' to such astonishing effect, as per my recent Guardian review. That can help fill a few bars. Or - and this will only work if the song has a Spanishy vibe like First of the Gang to Die - perhaps a few hey hu-heys? Got a song with a middle eastern vibe? Simply use a few 'duh-duh-duhs' like I used to fascinating effect in 'I Will See You in Far Off Places.'... tricks of the trade... It can make all the difference, really...
Ross: So seriously what do you make of the Bieber phenomenon, Mowwissey?
Moz: Well I think he's craftier than he looks. You can't make $100 million in this industry before you're sixteen and not be an evil b******. Never Say Never is a searing critique of this industry and the coporate exploitation therein. Justin knows exactly what he's doing with the butter-wouldn't-melt act but we're not buying it - not after the way he ridiculed that buck-toothed fiddle player. But then I also see a few things that are really unsustainable, moments of naivety from the lad... for example in his live DVD, he twitters his fans with the message:
"I'm sick but U know I neva want 2 let u down..."
Now Justin certainly won't make it to his 4th decade in pop music if he doesn't realise letting fans down is exactly what makes one's career last... each time one lets them down, it only adds to that enigmatic otherness factor and if anything adds to one's appeal... cancelling more gigs is what he'll need to do if he's to survive as long as a certain cold war warrior... Not turning up at festivals and claiming no one told you that you were on the bill... and don't forget ejecting fans from live gigs... it's all tofu for the grill. When he stops apologising and starts cancelling gigs on a whim, or because he fancies visiting a decent restaurant instead: then his career will finally begin...
Moz: Yes and I was also rather disgusted at the fact all the middle aged men were airbrushed out of the live concert footage. All these 'I [heart - morrissey creates a heart symbol with his thumbs and fingers] Justin' posters held up by teenage girls... and inexplicable bald patches floating around in the audience with no person attached... now I could airbrush my fans too... and God knows some of them need it... but it would just be crass, quite frankly... and if you are going to photoshop your fans, at least do a professional job and don't leave bald patches, heavily-inked tattoos and soiled rucksacks floating about in mid-air...
Brand: Morrissey, is it true that you have no record deal again? What is with those record labels? Don't they know you're a genius?
Moz: [knowing smile, sits forward] Well that's a very astute observation, Russell; but not for the reasons you might be thinking. The fact I am a genius is the very reason they won't touch me with a bargepole. These days one has to be stripped of all intelligence and wit to be a pop star. I mean just look at LadyBoy Gaga...
Ross: I'd rather not, Mozzer, if it's all the same to you. I haven't felt the same since I saw her cock in the green room...
Moz: I've met her, you know... him. Little old me.... oh just a nobody really... but I get my fair share of invitations, you know... just the odd one...
Boz: Sir- I mean Moz- how did you become so intelligent?
Moz: Good question, Boz. I think it was entirely natural. It's not something I've ever had to work at. I just find everybody else in pop is so utterly lacking in that regard...
Boz: How would you describe yourself in one word, Moz?
Moz: [pauses, rubs chin]
Moz: [mildly irritated] No, no Boz. Poor choice of words there, old son.
Moz: [raises an eyebrow] Do you know what? You've hit the nail on the head with that one, Boz. Your word selection has improved out of all recognition since you began working with a certain Mancunian poet, Boz. You never would have chosen that word to describe me in 1993 - even at the second attempt. Didn't he do well, Jonathan?
Ross: Well done, Boz. Praise from Mozzer is high praise indeed.
Boz: [smiles self-consciously, glances desiriously at the part-eaten pain-au-raisin]
Ross: One final question, Moz. I read on your blog that you're considering wearing a Justin Bieber t-shirt soon...
Moz: Yes - what's the question?
Ross: Well, why?
Moz: I've realised there's just no newspaper column inches in moaning about the latest pop stars, really, as moaning from Old Mozzer is hardly front page news these days. Therefore I'm going to start ironically endorsing these new acts - Bieber, J-Lo, Kelly Clarkson... reminiscent of when I wore that American Idol t-shirt to such uproarious effect.
Brand: I like that idea, Moz, I like it a lot...
Moz: [nods.] In one sense it's more powerful than simply moaning. In recent years I've been a bit of a misery guts: gone and forgotten the value of a bit of ironic positivity. So expect lots of ironic positivity and t-shirts of manufactured pop acts over the coming months, as well as news on the album front and a possible tour of the US...
Ross: Speaking of Justin Bieber, is there going to be 'One Less Lonely Girl' on your next tour, Mozzer? [raises eyebrows and smirks]
Moz: Steady on Jonathan. [cool stare] I once sacked Kristeen Young for less...
Ross: [looking upset] Is there any artist's t-shirt you wouldn't wear, Mowwissey? Eh Mozzer? [giggles like a schoolgirl]
Moz: Well I'd draw the line at Will Young. And Gareth Gates is singing on cruise ships these days I hear; I don't suppose it's even possible to buy a Gareth Gates t-shirt anymore. But if it were possible to buy Gareth t-shirts, I would definitely turn my nose up at one of those. I wouldn't be seen dead in one. The moral of the story is that however bad one's life seems, it's not as bad as Gareth Gates' life.
Brand: So Wildean...
Ross: I saw a letter in the NME from Robert Smith this week, Mowwissey...
Moz: Now that's what I call desperate...
Ross: Thank you Mowwissey.
Moz: Thank you and Goodnight.
Boz: Sir, weren't you going to post a note on TTY advising your fans not to buy that over-priced Smiths boxset for £200?
Moz: Yes Boz, don't worry your pretty little head about that. Just another week or so. Orders haven't quite begun to plateau...
Tuesday, 9 August 2011
August 3rd - August 8th
As the journalists seek to hang me out to dry - at long last, they groan - and my fanbase shrinks seemingly by the hour, it feels like 1983 all over again. My life is once again on the verge of intimacy and that slight sense of impending doom. Surely these are the perfect circumstances in which to launch my next collection of ten to twelve songs: all performed by yours truly with the assistance of the world's best, and best value, backing band.
At Belgium an encore would have been too generous; the Netherlands show was a little more lively. Nothing but dismay and apathy on the so-low place of course. With my rag-tag skeleton of a fanbase, the entire world considers me an insensitive b****** over the Norway comments and my name has become inexplicably intertwined with the absurd Deaux Soulliers brand. Could things actually get any worse? Cue Joyce to go on record as 'agreeing that Morrissey was right about Norway.' Great - just what I needed - moral support from the world's most morally bankrupt human being/session musician.
As we prepared to travel to London I thought I should check my band's email accounts under powers granted to me as an employer by sensibly-worded anti-terror legislation (one of Bliar's few achievements): now Boz isn't bright enough to pose a terrorist threat to a meat pie, so I rarely bother much with his dreary emails to Mr Collins and Suzi Quattro; but my other bandmates certainly have that malevolent quality, especially Jesse Tobias who is part-foreigner as you know. I was intrigued to discover the following correspondence in Jesse's 'deleted messages' file (he'd forgotten to cleanse):
From: Jesseaxe4hire@*********** To: boztherockboorer@*******
NP B. Will endeavor 2 encourage S to consider health risks of S_ing. Inr risk of V I etc. Will take him 4 coffee.
Naturally I was as intrigued as you are. Who is S? What is SPS? S_ing? V I?
I bided my time and then received a 'surprise' call to meet Jesse at a lovely little coffee shop that does the most mesmerising mochas. Jesse even offered to pay. Well, it's not often someone does something nice for me so I wasn't about to decline his kind offer... in some cultures that would be rude, not that you probably know about foreign cultures and that, being stuck on benefits in an industrial estate. During our relaxed discussions about set lists, T Rex and the FTSE 500, he quite spontaneously raised the small matter of an article he had found on the internet which argues men over 50 who remove their shirts when they've been exercising are at increased risk of viral illness and pneumonia. Said his 'wife' had told him that morning over breakfast; quite suddenly it became clear. My eyes glazed over but I nodded at all the right moments as Jesse mumbled about this and that in that innocent little voice, with a thin strand of hair falling over his brow. Bored me rigid. Would have been snoring had it not been for the excellent mocha with a double shot of the strong stuff. Did they send Jesse because he has my trust? Sly. Cunning. Cruel.
When I got back I delved into the depths of Boz's hard drive and there it was - incriminating evidence. The old duffer.
From: boztherockboorer@******* To: Jesseaxe4hire@***********
Boz here. I've just checked out Old Mozza's blog and it looks like we have a red alert. Seems like this really could happen. We need to sort things out to avert a disaster.
As usual, all correspondence should be written in coded language and only use secure web connections. Don't mess up lads - this is too important.
Code the same as usual
Morrissey = Stalin = S
Strip Prevention Strategy = SPS
S_ing = stripping
And remember to use vague language, lots of txt msg lingo so Old moz won't 'get it' and don't, whatever you do, just don't mention his age. Don't do that lads, it's more than your job's worth.
PS This mesage must be deleted and cleansed now, do not pass go, do not collect £200........................................................................
When will Boz learn? You don't mess with The Mozfather.
I got on with the London shows. I gave no outward indication of the knowledge I had gained about an evil conspiracy within my backing band to prevent me from expressing my sensuality on stage with a quick or not-so-quick removal of a sweaty shirt and a quick dab of said shirt on my exhausted musculature. Who are they to deny me? Who are they to deny my fans?
Well, well, well. They did notice on the so-low place that this little blog made the pledge to restart stripping to the waist just a day or two prior to restarting an old tradition with an ironic smile. A-ha. Lights coming on in heads. Slowly.
Another 'clue' at the Palladium? I promised to give another clue and I did - welcome to my world. Ah yes, just quoting Elvis. Absolutely nothing to do with an article I posted a few days prior to the Palladium featuring the review of a live DVD! The same words uttered at the beginning of my gig as a certain person utters at the beginning of his... nothing to worry about. Coincidence.
London was a joy. The slight sense of violence/glamour at this time only turned me on marginally more. As terrible as that may sound, I know you understand.
Well since the clues are too subtle - and now I see my fans are posting private correspondence on the so-low place while others post fake emails supposedly emanating from little old me - the subsequent clues will be slightly less subtle.
I may never post again on this blog but remember one thing. Just remember one thing.
I will soon appear in a Justin Bieber t-shirt, for irony value of course. And then you will no doubt be filled to the brim with regret. That is if you're bright enough to put two and two together. 'Oh it's coincidence!' they all cry. Then perhaps I'll even sing a few words of one of his songs? Or maybe not. Those of you who have remained true to me, I know who you are. Those who have not... don't come crying to me later. I won't be here. As for Boz and the old Strip Prevention Strategy: you haven't heard the last of this, Martin. Not by a long chalk. Now I think it might be time to don the old black shirt and black tie, tied nice and short... a little oversized jewellery and perhaps... yes, I will just take a moment to get the old cold stare just so. Where's my mirror? That's it. Lovely. Time to pay a quick visit to a certain rock musician...