Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
The Smiths
Why did no one tell me about them?
Embarrassingly, my Mum actually has something I want.
I found it in her CD collection – I never before thought there would be a source of anything good or interesting there, why would I? It’s all Joni Mitchell and classical stuff like Mahler and Beethoven. Old people stuff, you know?
But this guy, Morrissey, he knows me.
By the way, I’m aware of how I sound so please don't be put off and think I'm the equivalent of all of those Black Parade kids. Not that there's anything wrong with liking My Chemical Romance, I just mean some of them are kind of . . . mental?
I’m not about to bleat on about the fact that he’s sympathetic sounding and sings stuff that most teenagers can relate to.
It’s more that . . . there's something about the way he hangs onto a note, like a hand on a rail at the side of steep stairs.
It's stuck inside my chest and now I can’t be without it.
There’s one that’s called Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me. It made me think about Marcus, obviously, but it also reminded that there are probably hundreds or thousands of other lonely people out in the world, all contracting inside their chests whenever this song plays.
I wonder if Marcus likes The Smiths?
When my Mum sees me taking the CD, she half laughs and then says, “Oh God, Ella! Please don’t read too much into that stuff, there’s nothing for you to sink into.”
I honestly had no idea what she meant and now, having listened to the album, have even less of a clue. I burnt it onto the computer and then put it on my iPod so now I can listen to The Smiths in bed as well.
I’m so captivated by them I text Bridget to see if she has other albums by them and she says she has them all. Trust Bridget.
I bet they have every album in the world over at the Evans' household.
When I tell her this, she tells me that her Dad was at school with one of them. Why don’t my parents know anyone famous?!
My Mum used to tell me stories about when she was a bar maid in Islington, back when she was really young, how Hugh Laurie would come in to her pub and at the time I was really impressed. But now, having been in a pub, I’m not so sure.
I mean, say, for example, that I was famous. When I went into the Wine Bar the other night, I barely even spoke the bar man. I only had a little more contact with the bar maid from the Stage Door because I had to order AND show her my stamp. So, if I was famous, they could say to their children that they served me. And it would be barely worth mentioning.
Why did my Mum even bother to tell me that? What a pointless exchange. Only so I would be impressed and I was about eight years old at the time. It just goes to show what an idiot she is if she enjoys showing off for children.
I can’t wait to be a someone. Someone that people talk about from their kitchen tables, over cups of tea and cigarettes and the sound of The Smiths playing from the radio.
It’s totally true that Big Brother and all those reality shows have made fame a career option for some people.
Thing is, I don’t want to be famous like they are. For big tits and orange skin and saying idiotic crap to someone else who is just as pathetic. I want to find something real that people need and that only I can give them. To be necessary. Not a commodity as such, more like . . . an icon. Imagine being on people’s walls, having your name on their lips; the stuff you say repeated on their tongues, their tongues saluting me like an international wave.
What could I say to them? I have nothing to say. Can I just say that? I could tell them I’m alone and that I’m not always very happy and that I’m in love!
But I think The Smiths already covered all that . . .
Embarrassingly, my Mum actually has something I want.
I found it in her CD collection – I never before thought there would be a source of anything good or interesting there, why would I? It’s all Joni Mitchell and classical stuff like Mahler and Beethoven. Old people stuff, you know?
But this guy, Morrissey, he knows me.
By the way, I’m aware of how I sound so please don't be put off and think I'm the equivalent of all of those Black Parade kids. Not that there's anything wrong with liking My Chemical Romance, I just mean some of them are kind of . . . mental?
I’m not about to bleat on about the fact that he’s sympathetic sounding and sings stuff that most teenagers can relate to.
It’s more that . . . there's something about the way he hangs onto a note, like a hand on a rail at the side of steep stairs.
It's stuck inside my chest and now I can’t be without it.
There’s one that’s called Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me. It made me think about Marcus, obviously, but it also reminded that there are probably hundreds or thousands of other lonely people out in the world, all contracting inside their chests whenever this song plays.
I wonder if Marcus likes The Smiths?
When my Mum sees me taking the CD, she half laughs and then says, “Oh God, Ella! Please don’t read too much into that stuff, there’s nothing for you to sink into.”
I honestly had no idea what she meant and now, having listened to the album, have even less of a clue. I burnt it onto the computer and then put it on my iPod so now I can listen to The Smiths in bed as well.
I’m so captivated by them I text Bridget to see if she has other albums by them and she says she has them all. Trust Bridget.
I bet they have every album in the world over at the Evans' household.
When I tell her this, she tells me that her Dad was at school with one of them. Why don’t my parents know anyone famous?!
My Mum used to tell me stories about when she was a bar maid in Islington, back when she was really young, how Hugh Laurie would come in to her pub and at the time I was really impressed. But now, having been in a pub, I’m not so sure.
I mean, say, for example, that I was famous. When I went into the Wine Bar the other night, I barely even spoke the bar man. I only had a little more contact with the bar maid from the Stage Door because I had to order AND show her my stamp. So, if I was famous, they could say to their children that they served me. And it would be barely worth mentioning.
Why did my Mum even bother to tell me that? What a pointless exchange. Only so I would be impressed and I was about eight years old at the time. It just goes to show what an idiot she is if she enjoys showing off for children.
I can’t wait to be a someone. Someone that people talk about from their kitchen tables, over cups of tea and cigarettes and the sound of The Smiths playing from the radio.
It’s totally true that Big Brother and all those reality shows have made fame a career option for some people.
Thing is, I don’t want to be famous like they are. For big tits and orange skin and saying idiotic crap to someone else who is just as pathetic. I want to find something real that people need and that only I can give them. To be necessary. Not a commodity as such, more like . . . an icon. Imagine being on people’s walls, having your name on their lips; the stuff you say repeated on their tongues, their tongues saluting me like an international wave.
What could I say to them? I have nothing to say. Can I just say that? I could tell them I’m alone and that I’m not always very happy and that I’m in love!
But I think The Smiths already covered all that . . .
♠ ♠ ♠
Ella got her hands on The Smiths' fourth album Strangeways, Here We Come - the last album Morrissey made with them before going solo.Hugh Laurie has had an extensive career but our American readers might be more familiar with his role in House.