"Oh, the alcoholic afternoons...."
Hard to know where to begin with this one...for me this song carries such weight, completely drenched as it is in hormone and memories; stale paperbacks and hair gel, fevery flus and tangerine peelings, teenage sex and cups of tea, that any further attempt to explain its personal significance would bore you all lachrymose.
We all have our (often polarised) opinions on The Smiths and their worth...obviously I'm rather partial to them...and as far as the lyrics are concerned, I think I'll always have a softer spot for the earlier 'Bedsit Romantic' period Morrissey, before the glands of self-parody and archness began to throb...and though Johnny just got better and better, soon to take the music into glorious saturated technicolour and beyond (before sailing off the edge of the world), there's something refreshingly energetic and on-the-nail about the first clutch of offerings.
Those familiar with the song will probably know what I'm talking about...but this version may well be new to you, plucked from the aborted Troy Tate sessions of the first album....notable for an intro that has just a little more attack than what finally surfaced on the indispensible Hatful of Hollow.
Those not yet 'sat in the room' are just a click away from enlightenment.
Drum roll, please...