XFM Column - October

Last week, Irish comedian Sean Hughes was in the bar my mate DJs in. To no-ones surprise, he asked for The Smiths. This reminded me of a great line from the much missed and seldom repeated Sean's Show – "Everybody gets over their Morrissey phase. Well, except Morrissey, obviously."

You see, I've been seeing my current girlfriend for over a year and a half, and now we live together. And I've noticed changes. There's a bin in the bathroom. The bedclothes get changed more often. And, I think, I'm getting over my Morrissey phase...

The evidence? In January I received a fantastic portrait of the man himself. I have yet to hang the painting. It sits at the side of my bed, hidden away like some vulgar picture, with just the tips of his quiff sticking above the freshly plumped pillows. For Christmas I received a copy of The Queen Is Dead to replace the one Mike Joyce nicked off me (long story!). I've listened to it once all the way through, and then whenever iTunes chooses to shuffle it.

When did it change? I mean, when I was single I'd sit and indulge in I Know It's Over before anything ever really began. I'd get drunk and triumphantly sing You Just haven't Earned It Yet, Baby and believe every word. But it just isn't the same these days. Last night I dreamt that somebody loved me. And then I woke up beside her.

I've tried to share. My girlfriend (a big fan of the Foo Fighters and the Chili Peppers) sat patiently through my class, Smiths 101 – even passing her final exam (bonus points for getting both Steven and Patrick as Mr Morrissey's first names.) She loves Girlfriend in a Coma, which slightly disturbs me. She even bought me tickets to go and see him tour. I didn't take her. It would feel like cheating

Don't panic. I've not run out and bought the works of cheery love songs full of Moons In June and that sorta thing. I just don't have those evenings that I used to have. Just me, Morrissey, Marr, and a bottle of white. Instead I sit and watch NCIS with my girlfriend and a bottle of red.

I think Morrissey saw it coming. On Rubber Ring he wails "Don't forget the songs that made you cry, or the songs that saved your life" before pleading "Hear my voice in your head and think of me kindly." And I do.

Screw it. Never abandon your heroes. I'm away out to buy a picture hook.