The Relaunch and Morrissey

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, today is a momentous day.

Today is a great day. Today is a day our children, our children's children, and our children's children's children will remember forever.

Today, The Famous Peter is relaunched.

Welcome back! If you've been wondering where I've been, the simple answer is being lazy. When my exams finished I just wanted to relax, and at that time my idea of relaxing was not writing blogs, sadly. Instead I've been working hard at college, getting a few things sorted out and now it's okay. And the surprising thing is that's probably the most you'll ever hear about me on this blog.

The old 'Famous Peter' used to be about me. I bleated on and on about myself, what I was doing,what I had planned, and now it's about interesting things. I've taken very nicely to Charlie Brooker, and aim to take his job at The Guardian in a few years. Therefore, I'm starting where he did, and writing about good stuff. And we'll get right into it, shall we?

Morrissey performed at The Liverpool Echo Arena just last Saturday. It was the biggest venue in the North of England he played at all through the tour, so one would assume it was the most well policed/guarded. Instead, some yob managed to get through the "inpenetrable" bottle inspections into the standing area and throw a plastic bottle at Morrissey's head (by the way, I write this as I was literally six feet away from Morrissey when he was hit, and about a metre away from the bloke who threw it). A slurry line from 'Black Cloud' and rub of the head later, despite being less than two songs in (This Charming Man, Black Cloud) he proceeded to leave the stage along with his band and not return.

The arena went black and boos drowned out any other sound. People turned to one another, some frantically panicked, and others like me just laughed a little at how it sort of bobbed off his head. However, I didn't laugh for long. When the steward came to the front barrier and shined his torches in the vicinity of the thrower, my heart started beating a mile a minute as he scanned me. Before long, a dozen people were chanting "Here he is, here he is, here he is the fat bastard!" to the tune of 'You're Not Singing Any More', which were so enthusiastic they went over the thousands singing "Morrissey! Morrissey!" in a full hearted attempt to get him back on stage. One fat, middle aged man in a blue shirt had a face as hard as rock, frowning, eyes filling up. Staring mindlessly into the torch of accusation that was blinding even me. As a drunk fellow wearing a suit (who had in fact earlier offered to go to the bar for me) pointed at him, shouting "Him! Him!" Immediately, the fat man grabbed his arm and shook his head mouthing "No." This was like some horror film. My heart was racing and a fat man was about to cry. Just as he was about to be hauled out, I heard a furious voice raging past to my left, headed for the fat man. "Where is he? I'll fucking kill him." A skinheaded man tore through the crowd, pointing at fatty. He grabbed him by the neck and shouted something I couldn't make out. Blue shirt was still mouthing "No. No. No." The steward quickly broke it up, and hauled him out. He was very, very, very lucky. Ten minutes later (yes, ten) a man came on the stage.

"Morrissey has been hit on the head with a beer bottle. The show will not continue."

For the next minute, hell broke loose. The witch hunt stepped up. Anybody who was drinking beer at the time was on death row. Grown men pushed each other round like children in a playpen, not swinging punches but just going pig mental for space in this tiny area. I just shouted at the stage. 9 months of waiting and £32 wasted by one dickhead with a plastic beer bottle. After that, not much happened. The crowd dispersed, the stage was cleared and Twitter went crazy. It was a bad night.

Aside from that depressing story, I will be mainly writing comedic stuff on here, although I felt obliged to cover that event. So, thank you for popping in again and I hope to see you soon!