Oh for God's sake.
Look, like most people my age, The Smiths provided the soundtrack to my youth.
Now, I'm sure there were girls who liked them as well, but no human of the female persuasion can ever truly understand the depths of devotion that men feel for Morrissey (pictured).
There's just one problem, however – Morrissey is a complete and total dick.
I know, some friends of mine will probably never speak to me again and brand me as a heretic, but really, the man is incredibly annoying and arrogant and, frankly, a bit of an idiot.
From infamously being accused of flirting with fascism to espousing the kind of extremist vegan, anti-meat propaganda that would make even PETA blush (well, maybe), he has consistently proved himself to be a remarkably unpleasant person – pains me as it does to say that.
And his latest outburst is a classic case of Morrissey-itis.
Asked about the suicide of the nurse following the prank call to Kate Middleton's hospital, he said: "There's no blame placed on Kate Middleton, who was in the hospital as far as I could see for absolutely no reason. She feels no shame about the death of this woman."
He then went on express his doubts that she was even pregnant, saying that she was probably in the hospital to be treated for anorexia.
Jesus, Moz – you're becoming increasingly paranoid and hard to love.
What's next – Morrissey, David Icke and Jim Corr go on a conspiracy tour together?
Season's greeting – to Claire O'Leary
To be perfectly honest, most of the correspondence to this column tends to be rather abusive in tone.
I've been called everything from a paedophile to a drug dealer to being a Jewish sleeper agent in the employ of Mossad (I applied, but they turned me down, the buggers).
And I even manage to pick up the odd death threat from nutters every now and then, which is always a nice treat.
But it goes with the territory and you just have to suck it up – after all, when you stick your head above the parapet you can't really complain when someone gives you a kicking.
But there are times when the complete opposite is true and you get something lovely in the post.
That happened last Friday when I received a letter from 12-year-old Claire O'Leary from Killarney who mentioned my defence of Santa and went on to say: "I really hope you have a lovely Christmas (or Xmas depending on your beliefs). Wishing you and Mrs iSpy a very joyful Christmas (or Xmas)."
Well, Claire – thank you so much for the card and the gift and all I can say is . . . I hope you and your family have a wonderful Christmas too.
How will they know?
As we have seen from the fallout of the Savile inquiry, it looks like British children's television in the '70s and '80s was a hotbed of depravity – and not the good kind, either.
But now a new study has been released which says that more gay, bi and transgendered people should get jobs presenting kids' shows to "familiarise young children with people who have a different sexuality".
It then goes on to say that there should be quotas ensuring that "members of sexual minorities" get preference when auditioning for a gig.
Interestingly, the study was conducted by "nine LGB experts" (whatever the Hell that is) and they say that sexual minorities need to be more visible.
Now, personally I couldn't give a rat's ass about someone's sexual proclivities – that's entirely their business and absolutely none of mine.
But how do you make gay presenters more visible?
Well, I suppose you could put a pink badge on them.
But they tried that in Germany a few years back and it didn't really end well . . .
Of course, it all seems so obvious
And just as his father has some interesting beliefs (Bill Roache has been a druid since the 1960s) it would appear the son shares the same odd habits.
He revealed last week that he has been using an animal psychic to communicate with his dead cat.
He said he first engaged the use of the "animal communicator" to discover why his cat was climbing trees.
"It cost me $300 every time to pay a tree surgeon to take her down."
So why did the cat climb the tree?
Well, I would have thought it was because . . . it was a feckin' cat and that's what they like to do.
But if anyone out there believes you can communicate with their dead pets I have the ideal solution – just send me three hundred bucks and I'll tell you everything you want to know about your departed darling . . .
And I might even sell you London Bridge while I'm at it.
But that's racist!
When you look at inspirational political leaders, who springs to mind?
Well, I'm gonna take a wild bet and guess that Labour's Ed Millipede doesn't instantly pop up.
As much as I abhor bullying, every time I see him I just think: "Give me your lunch money."
Now he has upset some of the loonier fringes of his party with his suggestion on Friday that people working in the public sector should . . . be able to speak English.
How very dare he!
Everyone knows that expecting someone to go to England and learn the language is obviously a BNP- voting racial supremacist . . .