I think the Morrissey clan are pretty much of the same ilk. It's not just Stephen. He's a product of Irish immigrants who are probably all as vitriolic and strong willed as he is. Sam seems to be a particularly 'undiluted' example. Even more extreme than his uncle. It's not just Morrissey. They're, basically working class with strong family bonds and Morrissey happens to be the member of the family that expressed the way they all feel. I don't think any member of his family has any qualms with the way he conducts himself. Do you think he's any closer to his dad these days? Is his dad still alive? I saw him when I stood outside Morrisseys house on Boden Road. He was the spit of Morrissey these days. Morrissey may have the temperament of his mother, but he has the looks of his dad. I spoke to his mother too. She was very petite and wore white gloves. I naively asked her if she was Morrisseys girlfriend and she replied 'no, I'm the mother' She looked very young. I was sat, parked up in my red fiat panda, I'd just past my driving test. I climbed over Morrisseys gate and knocked on the door, but there was no response. I went to his old dwelling round the corner and the gentleman, who lived there was foreign and misunderstood me and thought I had come to pick up Morrisseys mail. He handed it to me and I chucked it in the nearest bin. I felt like a criminal. I'm sure Morrissey will forgive me. I went to Mike's place and gave my demo tape to his missus. He sent me a postcard congratulating me on being 'halfway there'. Still got it framed in the kitchen. Before all this I'd been to King's Road and spoke to a lovely old gentleman who lived next door. He was in his front garden and he made me laugh because he said 'I wasn't too keen on the other records, but I liked The Queen Is Dead' A little old man! In those days you didn't have the Internet or anything, you had too look through the electoral register, but the old man gave me more than a hint as to where I'd find Morrisseys abode and I'd already kind of narrowed it down anyway. I went over the 'iron bridge' that spanned the railway line and read all the heartfelt messages enscribed there. I pulled a twig from a tree, as I crossed the bridge. I haven't got that anymore. It was a wonderful adventure. The sun shone, and Manchester seemed alive with the Smiths for me. It was a sunny early spring day and I was on a council estate with a heart full of bewilderment, magic and perhaps a little crazy. I'll never forget the poetry of that day. Givr me a sunny day and a council estate and I'm happy. I also left a tape with Angie at Johnny Marr's place. No response. Never found Andys place. I do remember thinking, at the time though, how Johnny and Morrissey's abodes seemed palatial, while Mike Joyce's was pretty modest.