Do you think Morrissey suffers from S.A.D?
- Thread starter Girl-Afraid
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My Only Weakness
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I live in Manchester, Salford, more precisely. I can assure you, it is sunlight that tends to make us all terse with one another. Especially in the late afternoon, on a sweltering bus, rammed with way too many people coming from city centre. Bus drivers will tell you, on warm, beautiful, sunny days, fights break out, children cry more frequently, tempers flare far more readily than on a rainy day.
We are accustomed to cold, wet, windy weather, for, at the very least, four to seven days out of the week. Some of us prefer it.
The sun is blinding, unusual to our vampire skin and pale, easily scorched eyes. We don't know what to do with warmth except be slightly annoyed that we always over dress and end up lugging an extra garment round all day. Often even discarding it on a bus or a train.
Given that if you have a stroll on any city centre street during certain seasons, you will see enough people dressed in black to make you think we're all Victorian and observing The Queen's grief, so we end up positively ROASTING if the sun emerges from behind our resident clouds.
There are those from other climes, sun-worshipers, who on warm sunny days fill every square inch of green space within a three mile radius, mostly concentrated on Piccadilly Gardens and various University greens and lie about like lizards on rocks.
Bloody embarrassing tendency, if you ask me.
This city, this weather, this S.A.D.ness is what shaped our poet into the prolific creature he is.
It's what makes Manchester music, well, Manchester music.
There is happiness in misery for the serious mind, because it is to embrace the reality of life.
This modern, unrealistic notion of requisite contentment is absurd.
I live in Manchester, Salford, more precisely. I can assure you, it is sunlight that tends to make us all terse with one another. Especially in the late afternoon, on a sweltering bus, rammed with way too many people coming from city centre. Bus drivers will tell you, on warm, beautiful, sunny days, fights break out, children cry more frequently, tempers flare far more readily than on a rainy day.
We are accustomed to cold, wet, windy weather, for, at the very least, four to seven days out of the week. Some of us prefer it.
The sun is blinding, unusual to our vampire skin and pale, easily scorched eyes. We don't know what to do with warmth except be slightly annoyed that we always over dress and end up lugging an extra garment round all day. Often even discarding it on a bus or a train.
Given that if you have a stroll on any city centre street during certain seasons, you will see enough people dressed in black to make you think we're all Victorian and observing The Queen's grief, so we end up positively ROASTING if the sun emerges from behind our resident clouds.
There are those from other climes, sun-worshipers, who on warm sunny days fill every square inch of green space within a three mile radius, mostly concentrated on Piccadilly Gardens and various University greens and lie about like lizards on rocks.
Bloody embarrassing tendency, if you ask me.
This city, this weather, this S.A.D.ness is what shaped our poet into the prolific creature he is.
It's what makes Manchester music, well, Manchester music.
There is happiness in misery for the serious mind, because it is to embrace the reality of life.
This modern, unrealistic notion of requisite contentment is absurd.
