Morrissey: Hello, Cruel World

Goodbye, big-bloused flower-fondler; cheerio, depressed devotee of deathly doom; toodle-oo teetotal football-fearing perma-hermit; we'll sithee, bespectacled Billy NoMates. At 34, Morrissey is no longer the whey-faced, shrinking violet of legend. "I'm actually at the height of my powers," he tells Stuart Maconie, "... as a window-cleaner."