As Michael Jackson once said, "THIS IS IT"; although in MJ's case, 'it'turned out to be death by 'milk' as opposed to an exciting series of concerts, but as long as Moz doesn't have Boz acting as his personal physician, we should be alright! *I am now really tempted to write an impromptu parody piece with Moz laying in bed a la Michael Jackson, with Boz playing the part of a rock-a-billy Conrad Murray. Should I? Is it a bit too sick? Oh f*** it!*
(The setting is Morrissey's bedroom in some luxury hotel in LA. It is present day. Morrissey is laying in bed. The curtains are all drawn shut. Morrissey's long-time friend/musical director/Guru of the Grape/Polecat/Record Shop Owner/Cross dressing guitarist/Slightly over-weight bod, Martin 'Boz' Boorer excitedly leaps onto the bed, and begins bouncing up and down.)
BOZ: WAKE UP! WAKE UP! This is it, Moz, This... is... IT! (Boz does an extra high bounce on the bed, and bangs his head on the ceiling.)
(Morrissey doesn't stir. Boz rubs his head.)
BOZ: Come on Moz, please wake up, the tour starts today. *starts singing* I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it, I'm about to lose control, and I think I like it.
(Morrissey's eyes remain closed)
MOZ: Whoever you are, GO AWAY.
BOZ: It's me, Moz, Boz! Aren't you excited? We've waited a long time for this day.
(Boz gets off the bed, and sits down at Morrissey's dressing table. Morrissey keeps his eyes closed, and stretches out a hand onto his bedside table, where he blindly feels around. The feeling gets more frantic until eventually Morrissey opens one eye. He then opens his other eye and sits up in panic.)
MOZ: Where's my Omeprazole, Boz? Who's taken my Omeprazole?
BOZ: O-me what, Moz?
MOZ: My Omeprazole, Boz, my acid reducing tablets. Where are they?
(Boz looks down at the dressing table, which has lots of different medicine bottles and packets on it, and picks up a large packet of tablets.)
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BOZ: They're here, Moz. How many do you want, two?
MOZ: I'm burning, Boz, burning. Me Barrett's has taken hold. Throw me the whole box.
BOZ: I really don't think you should-
MOZ: -Just throw me the box, you c***.
(Boz tosses the box to Morrissey, who then swallows a handful of the tablets, using a gin bottle by the side of the bed to help wash them down. He closes his eyes again, and rests his head back down on the pillow. 2 minutes 31 seconds pass, and then Morrissey sits bolt up right and looks over towards Boz.)
MOZ: BOZ? I haven't got my contact lenses in yet, so luckily you are just a blur, albeit a rather large blur, but tell me, are you naked?
BOZ: Oh, er, yes Sir, sorry about that, but in my excitement, I forgot to put any clothes on.
MOZ: And what's that in your hand?
BOZ: It's my Herbie Hancock.
MOZ: Well, if you are trying to impress me, you haven't.
![Embedded image permalink]()
BOZ: I've hardly slept Moz, it's the old nerves. Do you still get them?
MOZ: One has to have feelings to have nerves, Boz.
BOZ: I've been thinking about the setlist Moz. I was thinking Crashing bores, Like You, Camden.
MOZ: Hmm, those ones weren't written by you Boz, were they?
BOZ: Oh, I forget which ones I've written, Moz, but now you come to mention it, I think I did write those three, but that's not why I mention them.
MOZ: "Forget which ones"? You've only written me about five songs in the past twenty years, Boz, and most of those were over a decade ago. Black Cloud has been just about your only decent effort in recent years, and even that was rehashed from Alain's Swallow on my doo dah! Anyway, why are you even thinking about set lists, they are my domain, not yours!
BOZ: I, er-
MOZ: -Of course, what I would really like to be able to do, is make impromptu decisions as to what songs I sing, depending on my mood at the time, but would you and your band be able to cope without a pre-arranged set list?
BOZ: We, er-
MOZ: -Anyway, enough talk of set lists and incompetent musicians, I'm ill Boz, I can't sing tonight, you'd better cancel the show.
![Embedded image permalink]()
BOZ: Oh shit, I had a feeling that this might happen. Moz, you'll be fine.
MOZ: FINE? I have NEVER been fine in my life, and even if I weren't at death's door, which I am, we always cancel the first night, it just wouldn't be a Morrissey tour if we played the opening night. How many times must I tell you, Boz, it's all about the Mysterious otherness, all about the mysterious otherness.
BOZ: Ok, Moz, I'll go and let everybody know.
MOZ: It's too late now, Boz, you should have cancelled it yesterday, I can't cancel now. I will just have to do my best, but this is your first and last warning Boz, I don't want these sort of mistakes being made throughout the tour. I will also be taking something out of your wage packet this month, to cover the cost of the inconvenience.
BOZ: But, I-
MOZ: -No need to thank me, Boz. Now, tell me what's been written in the press about me this week.
(Boz looks slightly perplexed, and then opens up a lap top that is sat on the desk. A couple of minutes pass whilst Boz searches the internet.)
BOZ: Not much to report, Moz. Some bloke called Lee has been tweeting that you are going to release three singles in three weeks, and some other bod from the Telegraph has written about Mountjoy.
MOZ: Mountjoy? My new song, Mountjoy?
BOZ: Er, yes.
MOZ: Unbelievable, perhaps the British press are not as brain dead as I had thought. Read what he's written, Boz.
(Boz, touches the screen with his right index finger, and starts to read, following each word with his finger.)
BOZ: "so what a thrill, buried towards the back of the new album, right after Kick The Bride Down The Aisle, is track 11: Mountjoy. We will have to wait until its July release to find out whether this is indeed a musical tribute to one of Wales's best-loved snooker players, but the thought alone inspires paro, parox, parox, paroxy-
MOZ: -Spell it out, Boz.
BOZ: P-A-R-O-X-Y-S-M-S
MOZ: Paroxysms-
BOZ: -"paroxysms of relish."
MOZ: What a t***!
BOZ: Your MorrisseysWorld blog mentioned Doug Mountjoy a full two years ago, Moz.
MOZ: I'm not sure that you're totally correct there Boz, old son, but there has definitely been some referencing to snooker players over the years on the old blog. Some of my best writing is hidden in those old articles, you know. Read me the My Live Tour Journal 2011, Boz.
BOZ: I can't, you've closed the blog down again.
MOZ: We can still access the articles, it's just the dreary fans who can't. Go on Boz, read me the 2011 journal, and I might even forgive you for not cancelling tonight's show.
(Boz, clicks a few buttons on the lap top.)
BOZ: What's the password again, Moz?
MOZ: boz, underscore, bores, underscore, em. Boz Bores 'em. All lower case.
(Boz types in the password and then starts reading.)
BOZ: "My Live Tour Journal 2011. July 12th to 18th. These days drifted by like confetti thrown in the blackness of night. The funeral atmosphere around myself and the lads was entirely due to the malicious hate-campaign being waged against me by my own online fans.-
MOZ: - C***s!
BOZ: "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."
MOZ: How very true. Thank god I managed to save myself with the Blue Rose Society.
BOZ: But Solow is still going Moz, and once the tour starts, even your Blue Rose fans will feel the need to go there to get the setlist. It's apparently the only reason they go there now.
MOZ: Hmm, you may be right there, Boz. Perhaps I should let that fawning rat have the set lists before Solow get their hands on them. It would liven things up a bit.
BOZ: You could even give him the set lists beforehand Moz, or at least an occasional one.
MOZ: No, there's no chance of that happening, Boz, but perhaps I will give the poor s*d a little snippet here and there. In fact, he's bound to be reading this, so let's give him and his dreary friends a little hint for tonight. Still alive. Still ill. Still sleepy. Anyway, forget about the fawning rat, carry on reading my mesmerizing tour journal. The bit about the snooker players is coming up.
(Boz places his index finger back on the screen, and continues to read.)
BOZ: "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 Myslef' 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 blossomed. 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."
MOZ: There you go, Boz, I told you it wasn't Doug Mountjoy, it was good old Ray Reardon I wrote about.
BOZ: Still very funny, Moz. You aren't half good at the old parody stuff.
MOZ: Yes Boz, you 're right, I am, and my blog really does deserve a wider audience, but I mean what I said recently; unless the BRS get roses to me, and Blue Rose is fulfilled, it's not coming back.
Fin
So, there we have it. We MUST get roses to Moz. And what of the clue regarding tonight's set. "Still alive. Still ill. Still sleepy." My guess is Well I Wonder, Still Ill and Rubber Ring, or perhaps Asleep. I don't think I've ever been so excited about a concert I'm not attending. If Moz sings either I Know it's Gonna Happen Someday or Trouble Loves Me, I might just abandon my son and his GCSEs, and catch the next flight to LA.
FOOT NOTE - My thanks to Dickie Felton and Boz Boorer for the use of their photographs, and my thanks to Our Mozzer for providing the 2011 Tour Journal piece. Finally, my thanks to Fifi for the set clue.
![moz crop]()
(The setting is Morrissey's bedroom in some luxury hotel in LA. It is present day. Morrissey is laying in bed. The curtains are all drawn shut. Morrissey's long-time friend/musical director/Guru of the Grape/Polecat/Record Shop Owner/Cross dressing guitarist/Slightly over-weight bod, Martin 'Boz' Boorer excitedly leaps onto the bed, and begins bouncing up and down.)
BOZ: WAKE UP! WAKE UP! This is it, Moz, This... is... IT! (Boz does an extra high bounce on the bed, and bangs his head on the ceiling.)
(Morrissey doesn't stir. Boz rubs his head.)
BOZ: Come on Moz, please wake up, the tour starts today. *starts singing* I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it, I'm about to lose control, and I think I like it.
(Morrissey's eyes remain closed)
MOZ: Whoever you are, GO AWAY.
BOZ: It's me, Moz, Boz! Aren't you excited? We've waited a long time for this day.
(Boz gets off the bed, and sits down at Morrissey's dressing table. Morrissey keeps his eyes closed, and stretches out a hand onto his bedside table, where he blindly feels around. The feeling gets more frantic until eventually Morrissey opens one eye. He then opens his other eye and sits up in panic.)
MOZ: Where's my Omeprazole, Boz? Who's taken my Omeprazole?
BOZ: O-me what, Moz?
MOZ: My Omeprazole, Boz, my acid reducing tablets. Where are they?
(Boz looks down at the dressing table, which has lots of different medicine bottles and packets on it, and picks up a large packet of tablets.)
BOZ: They're here, Moz. How many do you want, two?
MOZ: I'm burning, Boz, burning. Me Barrett's has taken hold. Throw me the whole box.
BOZ: I really don't think you should-
MOZ: -Just throw me the box, you c***.
(Boz tosses the box to Morrissey, who then swallows a handful of the tablets, using a gin bottle by the side of the bed to help wash them down. He closes his eyes again, and rests his head back down on the pillow. 2 minutes 31 seconds pass, and then Morrissey sits bolt up right and looks over towards Boz.)
MOZ: BOZ? I haven't got my contact lenses in yet, so luckily you are just a blur, albeit a rather large blur, but tell me, are you naked?
BOZ: Oh, er, yes Sir, sorry about that, but in my excitement, I forgot to put any clothes on.
MOZ: And what's that in your hand?
BOZ: It's my Herbie Hancock.
MOZ: Well, if you are trying to impress me, you haven't.
BOZ: I've hardly slept Moz, it's the old nerves. Do you still get them?
MOZ: One has to have feelings to have nerves, Boz.
BOZ: I've been thinking about the setlist Moz. I was thinking Crashing bores, Like You, Camden.
MOZ: Hmm, those ones weren't written by you Boz, were they?
BOZ: Oh, I forget which ones I've written, Moz, but now you come to mention it, I think I did write those three, but that's not why I mention them.
MOZ: "Forget which ones"? You've only written me about five songs in the past twenty years, Boz, and most of those were over a decade ago. Black Cloud has been just about your only decent effort in recent years, and even that was rehashed from Alain's Swallow on my doo dah! Anyway, why are you even thinking about set lists, they are my domain, not yours!
BOZ: I, er-
MOZ: -Of course, what I would really like to be able to do, is make impromptu decisions as to what songs I sing, depending on my mood at the time, but would you and your band be able to cope without a pre-arranged set list?
BOZ: We, er-
MOZ: -Anyway, enough talk of set lists and incompetent musicians, I'm ill Boz, I can't sing tonight, you'd better cancel the show.
BOZ: Oh shit, I had a feeling that this might happen. Moz, you'll be fine.
MOZ: FINE? I have NEVER been fine in my life, and even if I weren't at death's door, which I am, we always cancel the first night, it just wouldn't be a Morrissey tour if we played the opening night. How many times must I tell you, Boz, it's all about the Mysterious otherness, all about the mysterious otherness.
BOZ: Ok, Moz, I'll go and let everybody know.
MOZ: It's too late now, Boz, you should have cancelled it yesterday, I can't cancel now. I will just have to do my best, but this is your first and last warning Boz, I don't want these sort of mistakes being made throughout the tour. I will also be taking something out of your wage packet this month, to cover the cost of the inconvenience.
BOZ: But, I-
MOZ: -No need to thank me, Boz. Now, tell me what's been written in the press about me this week.
(Boz looks slightly perplexed, and then opens up a lap top that is sat on the desk. A couple of minutes pass whilst Boz searches the internet.)
BOZ: Not much to report, Moz. Some bloke called Lee has been tweeting that you are going to release three singles in three weeks, and some other bod from the Telegraph has written about Mountjoy.
MOZ: Mountjoy? My new song, Mountjoy?
BOZ: Er, yes.
MOZ: Unbelievable, perhaps the British press are not as brain dead as I had thought. Read what he's written, Boz.
(Boz, touches the screen with his right index finger, and starts to read, following each word with his finger.)
BOZ: "so what a thrill, buried towards the back of the new album, right after Kick The Bride Down The Aisle, is track 11: Mountjoy. We will have to wait until its July release to find out whether this is indeed a musical tribute to one of Wales's best-loved snooker players, but the thought alone inspires paro, parox, parox, paroxy-
MOZ: -Spell it out, Boz.
BOZ: P-A-R-O-X-Y-S-M-S
MOZ: Paroxysms-
BOZ: -"paroxysms of relish."
MOZ: What a t***!
BOZ: Your MorrisseysWorld blog mentioned Doug Mountjoy a full two years ago, Moz.
MOZ: I'm not sure that you're totally correct there Boz, old son, but there has definitely been some referencing to snooker players over the years on the old blog. Some of my best writing is hidden in those old articles, you know. Read me the My Live Tour Journal 2011, Boz.
BOZ: I can't, you've closed the blog down again.
MOZ: We can still access the articles, it's just the dreary fans who can't. Go on Boz, read me the 2011 journal, and I might even forgive you for not cancelling tonight's show.
(Boz, clicks a few buttons on the lap top.)
BOZ: What's the password again, Moz?
MOZ: boz, underscore, bores, underscore, em. Boz Bores 'em. All lower case.
(Boz types in the password and then starts reading.)
BOZ: "My Live Tour Journal 2011. July 12th to 18th. These days drifted by like confetti thrown in the blackness of night. The funeral atmosphere around myself and the lads was entirely due to the malicious hate-campaign being waged against me by my own online fans.-
MOZ: - C***s!
BOZ: "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."
MOZ: How very true. Thank god I managed to save myself with the Blue Rose Society.
BOZ: But Solow is still going Moz, and once the tour starts, even your Blue Rose fans will feel the need to go there to get the setlist. It's apparently the only reason they go there now.
MOZ: Hmm, you may be right there, Boz. Perhaps I should let that fawning rat have the set lists before Solow get their hands on them. It would liven things up a bit.
BOZ: You could even give him the set lists beforehand Moz, or at least an occasional one.
MOZ: No, there's no chance of that happening, Boz, but perhaps I will give the poor s*d a little snippet here and there. In fact, he's bound to be reading this, so let's give him and his dreary friends a little hint for tonight. Still alive. Still ill. Still sleepy. Anyway, forget about the fawning rat, carry on reading my mesmerizing tour journal. The bit about the snooker players is coming up.
(Boz places his index finger back on the screen, and continues to read.)
BOZ: "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 Myslef' 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 blossomed. 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."
MOZ: There you go, Boz, I told you it wasn't Doug Mountjoy, it was good old Ray Reardon I wrote about.
BOZ: Still very funny, Moz. You aren't half good at the old parody stuff.
MOZ: Yes Boz, you 're right, I am, and my blog really does deserve a wider audience, but I mean what I said recently; unless the BRS get roses to me, and Blue Rose is fulfilled, it's not coming back.
Fin
So, there we have it. We MUST get roses to Moz. And what of the clue regarding tonight's set. "Still alive. Still ill. Still sleepy." My guess is Well I Wonder, Still Ill and Rubber Ring, or perhaps Asleep. I don't think I've ever been so excited about a concert I'm not attending. If Moz sings either I Know it's Gonna Happen Someday or Trouble Loves Me, I might just abandon my son and his GCSEs, and catch the next flight to LA.
FOOT NOTE - My thanks to Dickie Felton and Boz Boorer for the use of their photographs, and my thanks to Our Mozzer for providing the 2011 Tour Journal piece. Finally, my thanks to Fifi for the set clue.
