Life for Lola

To Earls Court on Saturday to see Morrissey. It was my first opportunity to see the man who graced every inch of my bedroom wall in my youth - even on the light switch. I must say the years have been kind to him. I don't know that I would be quite so keen to have a twenty foot screen show pictures of my movements to the people in the cheap seats and I consider myself a fresh young beauty.

The audience were very well behaved, mind you, most of them turned up in MPV's and Volvos. Queues were orderley and there was no shoving and pushing to my relief. I've gone off concerts these days, I find them rather loud - thankfully, my ears have not yet recovered from Easy Jet so I found the volume quite comfortable.

Morrissey was brilliant, he sang lots of old Smiths songs and I was thrilled. There were a few dull bits as the new LP is a bit lost on me. I've put this down to my flirtation with the right but I dare say I am not alone - I should imagine there were a goodly sprinkle of like minded individuals bobbing up and down to "Shoplifters of the world unite" singing along, but in the back of their minds was how they were going to decorate the sitting room in their second home in Hampshire.

I stood there thinking of little Lola and how she would have loved it. I regressed into a fifteen year old depressive, sitting in her bedroom with a slim volume of Blake's verse listening to Meat is Murder with a cup of tea and a frown on her face. Sadly she is lost now, under layers of skin and years of compliance and, like the Titanic laying on the seabed, I shall never be able to pull her back.