I can't see it happening myself.
Mozzer's already belting out the songs from The Smiths back catalogue on the solo tours; Johnny Marr can't pick up a guitar at the moment because he refuses to put down his blackberry for a second in fear that he will miss the email informing him that the critical tide has finally turned with regards to his 2003 album, Boomslang. (Rolling Stone has taken his petition into account and revised the review up to 2.5 stars); and the Other Two? Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler are fully booked for autograph signings at Smiths Fan Conventions for the next three years (see them tomorrow night at Apsley Village Club . . . entrance fee 75 pence).
But as far-fetched as this particular one-off reunion sounds, it would be a nice bookend to this book. Real life so rarely imitates fiction . . . unless you take into account that time I borrowed Jimmy McGrory's old football boots and scored seven goals in a double period 5 a side game as the gospel truth.
Today, and only for today, let a hundred Smiths song titles bloom as post titles on a thousand blogs.