"It’s good that you’re here Mr Morrissey, exercising your rights to the full and so on..."

I was surprised too. I had thought that the man at the other end of the corridor leaning against the wall a la the "Introducing Morrissey" video, looked a bit like him from the back. But, no, he was too young, surely, and his haircut too boyish (with silly spikey bits at the back)... and isn’t he meant to be taller than that anyway? Then I caught him turning his head. The profile, the eyebrows, the eyes. In that order. Palpitations.

Here, for those that care (all of us, basically) are those vitally unimportant sartorial details. Morrissey was wearing a black suit (one that fitted him properly, somewhat shockingly), white shirt and some sort of tie which I’m afraid I can’t describe to you fully on account of spending most of the time looking at the back of his head. He was wearing a silver ring - middle finger, right hand - and a bracelet made of separate pieces of amber. I think we can take it as read that he was wearing a watch, although I can’t actually recall seeing one. He looked in rather better shape than recent photographs would have you believe. Accompanying him was (I assume) the same "mystery brunette" as last time. She wore pinstripes, sunburn and a low-cut blouse. Not much of a catch, to be blunt.

Anyway, back to the scene set in the first paragraph if you can cast your minds back to that. Moz, Ms Dannell (more assumptions) and another woman I could not identify (part of the legal team?), were chatting with Morrissey’s QC. The conversation was quite instructive, touching as it did on the following topics:

a) The "snappy" moments in Morrissey’s testimony at the December 1996 hearing:

"I don’t remember those bits..."

b) Luxury hotels. Morrissey was heard to comment on one particularly salubrious establishment:

"It used to be lovely, but now it’s gone a bit... continental."

c) "Mr Rourke"’s forthcoming tome (terminology Morrissey’s own).

At this point my notes become bespattered with mild expletives, so I shall leave what happened then to your imagination. Next to it I’ve written, "I’ll have to nab him at recess" which gives you a rather unfair inkling of what’s going to happen several paragraphs on.

Just to keep you up-to-date with this recollection (and what an odd idea that is), we have now entered to courtroom. Moz is sitting on the back row of benches, in between the two women mentioned earlier. I am sitting on the front row of the public gallery (actually just two extra rows of seats), about one metre away from Morrissey, at a bit of an angle. Nice view. I did briefly think about drawing him but no-one deserves that sort of treatment. You know what he looks like anyway.

There now follows a brief synopsis of the first part of the appeal. This was quite interesting, but I had trouble keeping awake through what followed it (about 4 hours in all). Incidentally, just how imagine how dull something must be if you’re falling asleep despite the fact that Morrissey is sitting in front of you, within grabbing distance.

Primarily, Morrissey’s QC alleged that the original judgement had lacked objectivity, and was swayed by the personal feelings of the judge towards the personalities concerned, which he summarised as:

"I’m going to take the oral evidence of Rourke or Joyce as against Morrissey’s denial because Morrissey’s character is X."

It was claimed that Judge Weeks’ poor opinion of Morrissey was formed as a result of his testimony, finally manifesting itself in the "highly damaging and completely unjustifiable" description used in his summing-up. This, incidentally, was apparently graffiti-ed onto Morrissey’s walls at some point.

In addition, it was argued that the evidence of several accountants had been ignored relating to the period 1986/7, when the profit split had been clearly shown. The so-called "Wool Hall meeting" of May 1987 (i.e. when the band were recording at the Wool Hall), was referred to quite frequently, the point being that Mike Joyce’s failure to protest at this point implied that he agreed with the share of the profits he was being given. It was also held that there was a principle of inequality in the band (not just in financial matters) which had been evident to all from the very beginning:

"Without Morrissey and Marr there would have been no Smiths"

Throughout the time in court, I was painfully aware that the entire situation could be divided into two parts: that which the law student sitting next to me was taking notes on, and all the extraneous rubbish that had my pen dashing across the tatty notepad. Here, then, for your delectation, is some of the information my neighbour went home without:

Morrissey’s mannerisms: The man is a complete fidget. Throughout the hearing he was observed to be doing the following: umming, ahhing, pouting, fiddling with his pen (which looked like a �2.50 job from Menzies), resting his head on an arm, messing about with his ear and rubbing his eyes. Plus several variations on these themes. At one point he even stuck his tongue out... in the direction of the judge (Morrissey? Hello?).

The court adjourned (probably just as well considering the last paragraph). I seized my opportunity as best I could, walking beside Morrissey as he strolled off for lunch. The usual pathetic subterfuge ensued, and I shall try not to bore you with too much of it. I apologised for disturbing him off-duty, as it were, "but Albuquerque’s just too far away." He smiled gently with the infinite patience of a man who has to put up with this sort of nonsense every day of his life and signed the piece of card at the back of my uber-tatty A4 pad. By the time I’d started wondering what the hell "good wishes" was supposed to mean ("... they make me suspicious"), he was long gone.

[Pause]

Against my better judgement, I went back to the court at 2pm. There was a mist of weariness about the proceedings (or it might have been just me, I suppose), relieved only by the brief visitation of Morrissey’s "snappy" moments is Part I of this saga ("Mr Morrissey did not find giving evidence very easy..."). You really need to imagine this read out in a dead-pan Oxbridge accent:

1.)
[when asked about his business arrangements with Johnny Marr]
M: Could you define partnership?
QC: There are a number of books which do that Mr Morrissey, but I don’t intend to go into that now.
M: I haven’t read them.

2.)
QC: I don’t want you to think I’m tricking you.
M: I think you are.

3.)
QC: Could I finish my question please?
M: It’s too time-consuming.
QC: It’s more time consuming if you don’t allow me to finish the question.
M: I don’t agree.

The last one actually elicited chuckles from various parts of the court room; I shall spare you the rest.

I should put a nice conclusion on this now, but since I left suddenly at 4pm in a last-ditch attempt to prevent my getting thrown out of LSE in my first term, it might be more faithful to leave this feeling unfinished. I’ve already achieved an ambition today: I can learn to write tomorrow.

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