#9 - The Rain Falls Hard

Dear Morrissey,

It is raining in Manchester.

And I really don't want to go outside.

Jack x

#8 - Oh, the Alcoholic Afternoons (When We Sat in Your Room)

Dear Morrissey,

Today I awoke, at the usual time, to the usual dulcet sounds of Radio 4, to find a tie scrawled on my chest and stomach in eye-liner.

I'm trying...

Despite the headache, and the nausea, and the strange (but increasingly familiar) hangover-fuelled-detachment...

I'm really, really trying....

To remember how it got there.

But I can't.

Yours From a Distance,

Jack x

#7 - In the Days when You Were Hopelessly Poor (I Just Liked You More

Dear Morrissey,

There is little I can say or do to console myself.

I am poor. Not only in soul and talent, but (and this is infinitely more depressing) in wealth.

On Thursday mornings, my politics lecturer, Karl, talks nostalgically of student grants and anti-Thatcherism.

I don't know what's worse about 2010.

Having no money.

Or having nobody to blame for it but myself.

Yours Irrationally,

Jack x