Hello,
Could someone provide a link to Neil swearing on the Bowlie board please? I
don't seem to be able to find my way round it properly and I don't want to
miss out. I wish he'd done his swearing here on Sinister, we used to have a
very close-knit swearing community. Perhaps someone could provoke him over
toilet facilities at Glastonbury or something.
Thank you in advance.
Peter
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Just to let you know that we have two Belle & Sebastian vinyl stickers for
sale. Those of you who were at the recent US/Canadian gigs would have seen
them there and we now have the leftover stock. The designs are a black &
white "I Love My Car" sticker and a blue, red and white "Jet Tours" sticker.
Both items are £1.50 each and postage is included in this price. Saves
people paying $20 for the from eB*y. We have also made a new batch of the
"Jet Tours" mugs and you can find all of these at
http://www.banchoryshop.net
cheers,
Katrina @ Banchory
banchory
press - management - merchandising
po box 25074 glasgow g2 6ld scotland
email: shop(a)banchory.net
http://www.banchory.nethttp://www.belleandsebastian.co.uk/home
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To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
***
Such sallies and swoons.
A starling flock. A total
eclipse of the moon.
Paul Muldoon
***
So anyway, as I was blearily sitting down to tea and toast earlier, I
glanced up from my kitchen-table concentration on buttering and
lemon-curding and out the window to notice that there was an elegant young
lady mallard perching on the garden fence, her tail feathers spread for
balance on the thin wooden support. She seemed rather agitated, not to
mention out of place in a small garden entirely surrounded by tall houses,
but it wasn't until a couple of minutes later that I noticed her full
complement of onetwothreefourfivesixSEVEN baby ducklings clustered round a
sizeable flowerpot on the ground below. The nice man next door and I came
to the conclusion that she probably sneakily laid her eggs in someone's back
garden, hatched them out and is now wondering how to get them to the park
pond. The nice man is phoning the appropriate people and they should all be
happier by the time I get back home. Hopefully. Crikey. On to less
important things:
SUMMER HERE KIDS!
Nice to see that Edwyn Collins will be getting a heap of royalties from
the use of "Never Met a Girl Like You Before" on some hair dye advert.
That'll keep him in Hawaiian shirts for a while yet.
The inexplicable bruises (right side of the body only for some reason) of
the last week's fun and games fading, like the morning, into green and gold,
it's time for reflection, along with a load of other irrelevancies. What
else is a jobless girl to do on a lovely sunny London day?
DANCING
"How Does It Feel To Be Loved?" was the question, and I'm not sure I can
remember the answer, but we (having nailed our courage to the sticking
point) danced our socks off anyway, despite most of the fab records being at
least twice the average age. I think. The Buffalo Bars (what macho people
have on the front of their Sports Futility Vehicles to fend off the large
ruminative wildlife of suburbia) is fetchingly red all over, which could get
trying eventually. And, as Mark H mentioned, the lack of signage on the
'conveniences' was mighty amusing, at least after one's first visit, when
viewing the first visits of other parishioners. Also, !dang! expensive
bottled beer.
BOWLING
There was bowling and it was very good. Rowan's R!O!C!K!S! with its dingy
interior and authentically sticky floor. Cheap bitter, too. I improved no
end over the two games played, and demand a rematch at some point. Luckily,
I can sneakily get some midweek practice in on the cheap. There was
drinking in the pub and eating of Nando's corporate whore chicken chunks,
then more drinking and such back at my house for the truly hardcore. Am
resolved, having marvelled at the twinkling fingers of Mr Chu on my poor
neglected steelstrung acoustic, to relearn the chords that I have forgotten
and then some more. E minor, where art thou? Also to spend more time in
bed with sinisterines.
WANKING
What the clever-clever monologue in "Mandingo cliche" is designed to make
those of the assembled who are susceptible to girls and social theory do.
Like Todd S himself, one would presume. It all makes sense, but there's
something rather cynically manipulative about it, added to the
wisdom-from-the-mouths-of-babes factor. It would be more interesting if she
was a witty and perceptive hideous troll rather than another jobbing actress
with perfect teeth. Still, while on the subject of shallowness:
WIMBLEDON
Mmm, tennis players. Like the Girl from Ipanema, many of them are tall and
tanned and young and lovely, not to mention lithe and fit. Phwoar. Cold
showers all round, then.
Love,
Liz :x
***
Politeness lasts like a flower, then curls,
darkens and returns to itself.
Steve Aylett
***
_________________________________________________________________
Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.msn.com
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
hello my little scrumptious little gorgeous bits of scrumptious
gorgeousness.
and archel.
i'm about to fly to glastonbury, so i can't stop. besides, as the buddha
once said 'talk is for pussies, silence is WHERE ITS AT!' or he would have
done, if he hadn't been busily staying silent at the time.
just a quick one, then. no fucking about
straight to the point..
yeah!
so...here's the point
the one you were waiting for
its here
there will be a PICNIC in BIRMINGHAM the weekend of the 21st/22nd july. i
haven't arranged the exact date yet, i will do that soon. the gorgeous
dimitra daisy and sunny set will be coming to visit, and i'm hoping i can
persuade a few others to come too. (taylor, are you reading?)
there will be some room at my house, although not a lot. the picnic will be
in cannon hill park, because the cinema there has a bar we can go into if it
rains. and because cannon hill park is nice. if you stay out of the way of
the roller-bladers and pushchairs.
see you there, or i'll want to know why..
and i don't accept 'i live in a different country' as an excuse.
(speaking of which, will somebody in australia say 'hi' to jeremy for me?)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
-----------------------
one more thing. some of you may recall a certain cat power gig the night of
the greenwich picnic that i was trying to persuade you to go to. the
following may be of interest. or it might if you like cat power anyway.
otherwise, just don't read it.
i would have posted this earlier, but i didn't.
'a cat in the bush is worth.....' cat power at the bush hall
Sunday 5th May
the bush hall looks like it should be filled with posh ladies sipping tea
and saying 'ooh, baroness jocasta, the working classes are FRIGHTFULLY
presumptuous these days'. tonight, it was full of smartly-dressed scruffbags
and scruffily-dressed smartbags, all looking suitably reverential. they had
come here to worship, after all.
the support act were called 'somebody (dwight? john? malcolm?) yorkston and
the athletes' and they were rather fantastic. they are not exactly
stretching the boundaries of alt. country, but when you can make the centre
sound this fine, that doesn't really matter. clever lyrics, gorgeous tunes.
if you don't hear of them again, then there's no justice in the music
industry.
so, you probably won't hear of them again.
chan marshall, aka cat power, has a reputation for giving 'unpredictable'
performances at gigs. this was my first feline experience. i'd heard she
lasted 15 minutes at one recent gig. i was hoping they wouldn't talk, or
heckle her, or do anything to upset her as she crept onstage with her guitar
and muttered something which everyone laughed at.
it was probably very funny. a shame i couldn't understand it. i've never
been good with muttery people which meant i missed most of chan's asides
that evening. judging from the guffaws which resounded around me, she must
be a Mistress of Wit.
she started off beautifully, delivering material from both 'moon pix' and
her covers album in her uniquely unearthly style, barely pausing for breath
in between numbers. moving between the piano and the guitar, cracking
unintelligable but clearly hilarious jokes as she went, she did a great job
of Impressing An Audience Who Would Have Been Impressed Even If She'd Turned
Up, Blown Her Nose, And Buggered Off Again.
but when you sit in the centre of such a congregation, its impossible not to
end up clapping in time to their tune, and, in this case, it would have been
unjustifiable.
as the gig went on, she got a little more, shall we say, 'quirky', getting
bored of songs halfway through, improvising frequently, appealing for
audience participation (this seemed to involve
sing-a-long-a-can-i-get-a-witness-with-chan on several occasions, and
whistling on command), getting notes wrong, stopping, starting and generally
fucking about. nobody else would have got away with it. she did.
i heard someone else call the gig 'shambolic', and i have to agree. but this
wasn't a lacklustre, unexciting, badly drawn boy shambles. this was The
World Of Cat Power. she drew us in, she played with us, and she showed us
how special it felt to be played with. she broke every rule in the Good Gig
Guide. i can't wait to see her again.
frustrating, hugely entertaining, amusing, disconcerting.
i think i'm in love.
ian
------------------------------------------
Tomorrow will bring happiness
Or at least, another day
Phil Ochs
------------------------------------------
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
stare... how do i contract time? large movements only come when selecting
new music. how is it that it can be quite so quiet here? has everyone
entered the same zone as me? very little seems to get accomplished; just
enough to meet the deadline, no matter if it is correct. each wall is
adorned with a clock to constantly remind us that time is, indeed, the
corporate sponsored religion.
stare.... in such a sterile environment, one's brain slowly becomes
unhinged, though mine has excelled in only 2.5 months. the results are
interesting: quick, spastic movements when away from these cubicle walls,
mood swings brought on by thoughts of sad times of the past (why can't i be
there instead of here?), frantically grasping for my legs in fear that
they've simply fallen off for they are no use here in the land of email and
speaker phone. direct human contact leaves me shuddering, craving for the
shadows.
stare.... life (whatever is allowed, at least) away from the corporation is
now indirectly affected. sexual advances are now required to be booked
through an office assistant; fifteen minute meetings only please. i've
stopped listening to others' tales for my jealousy for their lives makes me
an unhappy, and therefore (according to the sign), an unproductive employee.
stare..... i wonder if the two neighbors of mine even know what the other
looks like; they are constantly on conference calls to one another just
feet apart; this is called efficiency. in my space, time has frozen; the
company calendar reminds me of january and brags a photo of germany. june
saddened me with the image of poppies and was quickly discarded. moments of
joy can be found: when the coffee machine slips and gives me two cups rather
than just one; when a print job can be successfully located through the sea
of cubicles. sometimes people bring donuts. i don't like donuts, but i do
like to take one to remind me of someplace with flavor.
stare......... this is my life now, for the next 40 years or so. i've
taken my place in front of that ladder. the sign begs that we wait our
turn; please don't push for everyone will get the chance to plunge to their
death once we can no longer climb. they do say that the life expectancy
rate is getting longer. this will allow me the opportunity to enjoy life a
bit, that is if i've planned and saved appropriately.
stare......
jillianne
ps. still working on that quote, so until then i shall borrow one from sara.
after all, as all cover bands claim, it's meant to be a compliment, not
laziness:
"all the people'd stare as if we were both quite insane
someday my name and his are going to be the same"
_________________________________________________________________
Chat with friends online, try MSN Messenger: http://messenger.msn.com
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To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
Hello everyone.
It's been really quiet on here lately. Has anyone
else noticed? I used to open my emails almost every
night and get 8 or 10 in my inbox. Recently it's been
about 3. Lurking is the new lurking, after a brief
manic of everyone posting and no mistake.
Some little vagabond kicked my back door in last week
whilst I was at the piccys watching Spiderman (not
bad, but don't expect anything too taxing). The
scoundrel hotfooted it away with my playstation and my
shiny new mobile. That means I'm now on my third
phone in 2 weeks, after my first one went for a swim
in a very hot cup of tea, and subsequently became a
bit poorly.
I get paid tomorrow and I can't wait. It's crap being
skint. I can finally get poor Scooby the goldfish
some food, after he's been forced to live off of left
over pasta, creme eggs and tomato soup. I've got my
eye on a rather cool t-shirt too and I'll pick up some
peanuts for my bird feeder in the back yard. I should
call it a sparrow feeder really because that's all
I've ever seen at it. Oh, well, sparrows need feeding
too. It can't be much fun for the poor little sods.
They never get to reel around their front room to "The
Boy With The Arab Strap" half pissed do they? Or do
they? He was called Scooby before Storytelling too
before anyone says anything. I'm thinking of
launching a legal action (um.)
Ho Hum, sorry it's a bit boring. That's what being
skint will do for you. Before I post again I promise
to discover a new colour, have a number one record
about a penguin and successfully bring the mammoth
back from extinction.
Does everyone on here look forward to Idleberry's
posts? I know I do. I think we should elect her El
Presidente and build her a palace and/or a big bronze
statue. What do you think? Leader. Leader. Leader.
Take care and enjoy Glasto if you're going.
Loads of Love
Dean XX
"As a gale on the mountainside bends the oak tree
I am rocked by my love" Sappho
__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Everything you'll ever need on one web page
from News and Sport to Email and Music Charts
http://uk.my.yahoo.com
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To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
http://wso.williams.edu/~dgambrel/catgirl/cgscout.gif
m.
--
"But still, I'd rather be famous
Than righteous, or holy
Any day, any day."
-- The Smiths, Frankly, Mr. Shankly
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send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
It's been too long..
Going home alone
================
Going home alone from the ridge of East Coast
lost in a world she had known as a girl
She knows her lover lies south, in Milton Keynes
Playing along and then sleepy as night
Warm in the bum that conceal her from sight
she is accustomed to frowning to people
Taking the time as he walks on the plane
Holding the flowers he picked in the rain
walking in shadows to his Isobella
Safe in the dawn he gets under the sheets
His Isobella a heavenly sweet
Wet dreams that was put there to save and protect him
He knows that time can not endlessly go
If he keeps love from Izzy and not let her know
she will be gone too and he could not bear it
Hope at the bottom he calls almost big
Folk take for granted as they walk to gigs
She starts deep breathing and I'd listen to her
Sir all I want is a chance to amend
Isobel deficiency please do not send
Me far away from my arse
Me far away from my arse
Me far away from my arse
Isobella
<clap clap clap clapclap>
<clap clap clap clapclap>
ding dinglading ding ding ding
Ken
_________________________________________________________________
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send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
hi sinister,
lately it is all about jazz musics b/c it is jazz festival time in
vancouver. i saw ken vandermark & school days for *free* yesterday
outdoors in the sunshine and it was great. (and a nice change from
*sleeping most of saturday* due to football/soccer watching fatigue.
almost... over...) but jazz, yeah.
new things: i bought new headphones finally - holy cow, what's that?
is that *bass*? is that *a broad range of sound*? etc. i urge people
to buy decent headphones (www.headphone.com has good advice) i only
bought a pair of koss portapros, but hell, so much better than crappy
sony earbuds that came with my walkman. plus these ones look all
early 80s, oooh. also i picked up a lucksmiths cd called 'where were
we?' which is 'an assortment of recordings 1999-2001'. yes, but so i
opened it up and there's a photo of a sign from right here in
vancouver on commercial drive! one of my favourite signs too. it's
about haircuts. but it's weird to see such a familiar sight in the
inside cover of a cd of an australian band that i love. well, they
did spend some time here last year, but still! weird! and i bought a
red&white striped tanktop b/c it was $10, cute and makes me happy.
my favourite part of idleberry's email was about her friend with the
school uniform and briefcase and how "She went on to become an
arttherapist, and lives in Birmingham now, working with kids." wow.
that paragraph (which was in parentheses) was an amazing short short
story. yaay, idleberry!
and lindsey wrote "and in one of those books, i want a spider,
pressed between pages like a flower."
and that you compared a crushed spider to a flower and it came out
lovely. whoa. this is just good. yes, so maybe i've been thinking too
much lately, but you both got a few tears out of me and i'm not
really the teary type. not for the past couple years anyway. don't
know what's going on lately.
i think it means i need to look more at things like this. oh. yes.
http://world.honda.com/robot/
why is it that one can feel so up one day and so down the next? why
is it that we're always asking this question? gar. ah, but new things
con't: i bought herrmann & kleine's 'our noise' and it is happy
bloopy-blorpy summery noise :)
robyn
"I take whoas and awesomes as far deeper criticism than your average
'a radical departure from the mosh-metal norm' or 'groundbreaking,
ambitious, and ultimately essential,' since the latter is
demonstrably easy to do but a decent 'whoa' is notoriously tough to
fake." - http://www.lastplanetojakarta.com
=====
I was reading the dictionary. I thought it was a poem about everything. ~Steven Wright
~~~
Robyn Fadden rfadden(a)yahoo.com Vancouver, BC
__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
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http://fifaworldcup.yahoo.com
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To send to the list mail sinister(a)missprint.org. To unsubscribe
send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to
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+-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+
+-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "peculiarly deranged fanbase" +-+
+-+ "pasty-faced vegan geeks... and we LOST!" - NME April 2000 +-+
+-+ "frighteningly named Sinister List organisation" - NME May 2000 +-+
+-+ "sick posse of f**ked in the head psycho-fans" - NME June 2001 +-+
+-+ Nee, nee mun pish, chan pai dee kwa +-+
+-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+
+-------------------------------------------------------------------------+
hello all,
Hope everyone is doing ok and tickity boo.
Theres a variety of things for me to tell you today,
so best to get started I guess...
*****NEWS FOR PICNIC WHORES******
there are approximately two more scottish picnics in
the pipeline for this summer, following on from the
highly successful "goodbye, Mr breams" picnic just
over a week ago. Obviously, news of our ability to do
it so well has spread far and wide, not unlike the
legs of Ulrika Jonsson, that people want to come up
here and get a whiff of some HARDCORE scottish
sinister picnicking pleasures.
The first will take place on the first weekend of
July, when Mark HOTPOT Cassarole will be gracing us
with his hip thrustin' Elvis-like presence somewhere
in glasgow, I suspect.
Throwing knickers and swooning is optional.
The second is towards the end of the month, and
looking likely to take place in Edinburgh, cos Gordon
says so. Which is fair enough really. Plus you know,
like, us east coasters are getting a bit fed up with
having to do all the hard work and travel through.
Oh, and are we having a game of football? hmm? or is
tennis the new world cup now? If sports are on the
menu, please don't forget your gym kit, or I'll make
you run round in your bare feet, vest and pants.
Even if you've gone commando.
********Work stuff news*********
I like telling this story, cos it makes my life seem
that bit more interesting.
I went and sat in to listen to Tommy "The Commie"
Sheridan (SSP) Free school Meals for Children Bill
getting debated in the Scottish Parliament last week.
I went along, becuase I wanted to get a "feel" for the
passion of parliament debates at their most heated.
I expected all the fireworks, and verbal wrestling to
take place in the chamber, so I sat up in the public
gallery, watching as if it were a roman colusseum with
the gladiators and lions and stuff.
Well, it wasn't far off.
The thing is, you're supposed to be respectful of the
flow of democracy in the public gallery.
But i soon realised, that down in the debating chamber
was the better place to be, as the crowds took to the
parliament like a bunch of middle aged over excited
parents at a pantomime. The jeered. They hissed. I
expected them to say "hes behind you!". And the Deputy
Presiding Officer gave them a few fair warnings about
their behaviour. Feeling a little less than
comfortable, surrounded by irrate middle aged oddballs
in garishly coloured lycra leggings and sandals, I
made an early departure, heading back to watch it on
telly, from the safety of my desk, away from all those
nasty voters.
Plus, all that talk about chips and cheese made me
feel hungry.
As it happens, the Parliament had to be suspended for
ten minutes, as the protesters were escorted by police
and security from the public gallery.
*************************************
A few days ago, I started emailing someone on this
list who responded to one of my previous posts. I was
telling them about when I used to be a dancer, when I
was a little girl. So I thought I'd tell you too.
When I was a kid, my mum used to send me off to do
various activities. dancing, swimming lessons,
operetta (a drama club), brownies, gymnastics.
My best friend, when I was 7, was a girl called Ruth.
She went to dance classes, and the dance classes I was
attending weren't going so well, on account that it
was ballroom dance classes (if you can count dancing
to "Agadoo" as ballroom- that was more a warm up
exercise though, but hey, at least I learnt to jive
and to cha-cha) and my "dance partner" was more
interested in sitting in the corner eating ten pence
sweet mixes from little white square paper bags than
getting up and dancing with me.
My dance teacher had words with my mum, and they
decided it was for the best I didn't attend anymore.
But Ruth went to dancing, and invited me along too.
She went to "Miss Clarks School of Dance" in Hamilton,
and my mum signed me up to join.
I remember the first day. The dance lessons were held
in a building, a grey terrace row, on John Street near
the town centre and you had to walk along this dingy
little corridor into the dimly lit cloak room that
smelled of sweat and damp, where you got changed.
All the other little girls were skinny and petite, and
I was never a skinny and petite little girl, I wasn't
over weight, but I wasn't like those little porcelain
featured girls, who had been learning to demi pliea
(or however its spelt) before they could walk.
Ruth ignored me right from the start.
I went in, and met Miss Clark. I can tell you, I hated
that woman. I despised her. She had a sharp, snarly
glaswegian accent, and always had a cigarette dripping
from her wrinkled lips.
Her saggy eyes drooped, like Paul MacCartney's do,
from behind tinted lenses of her glasses and she hd a
short grey crop. She wore black sweatshirts over
leggings, and she wasn't very tall. She was like a
cross between Pasty and Selma from the Simpsons, and
Wee Jimmy Crankie.
But she was a nasty woman. A cruel, evil hearted
woman, who obviously hated children and had fallen on
hard times, earning her money teaching little girls to
dance and all she could get out of it was to crack a
stiff smile at their parents who paid the annual fee,
and then snarl, like a rabid dog at their children as
soon as the money was in the bank.
She growled, and barked, and shouted at you if you
forgot. Even the plump middle aged pianist lady with
the red curls looked frightened, bowing her head,
down, and peering over when Miss Clark told her to
stop, as she came stomping across the wooden floor
towards some unfortunate child who had made a wrong
move.
I didn't exactly know what she meant when she told me
to point my toes. How do you point your toes? Well, I
splayed my toes. And she shouted at me. And she
grabbed my foot, and pushed my toes together, and
roared "POINT!" ,at me.
The first day, I held my little ballet shoes in my
hand. I didn't know where to put them, not somewhre
that they'd get lost or mixed up, so I pushed them
down the front of my leotard.
Miss Clark walked over to me, every footstep clipped
and sharp.
She looked down and smiled. Then her face turned into
the darkest expression I have ever seen. Then she
growled. And then she called me stupid for sticking my
ballet shoes down my leotard, and showed me off to the
other girls, who all laughed.
She called me "kirstin" and then I made next my
mistake. My mistake that would stay with me for the
three years I attended her classes.
I corrected her pronouciation of my name.
"Its Kristin" I said.
>From then on, when she talked to me, her voice would
resonate around the room, for the next three years,
she would talk to me, putting on a mock-posh accent
and patronising me "Krrrrrrrrrrristin!" she would say.
Rolling her r's tighter than a rizla cigarette paper.
I wasn't very good at ballet.
The other little girls weren't like me. The class was
split into two. Mis Clarks favourites- the porcelain
china dolls, who went onto perform in pantomimes, and
one little girl even got a bit part in Emmerdale,
which made her the starlet for weeks to come as she
talked about her showbiz career, Miss Clark washing
her with compliments and asking her what it was like.
Then there was me, and the other dumpy little girls.
The little girls who didn't look like pretty little
ballerinas. The less than graceful children. The
little girls who tried hard, but really, we didn't
stand a chance. The little girls who weren't very good
at ballet. The rejects. The oddballs. The girl who was
taller than the rest, and akward. The girl with the
frizzy curly halo of hair. Me. We hated it there.
My friend Ruth woudn't talk to me during the breaks.
She would glance over at me, and turn back to the
porcelain children and giggle.
I befriended those odd little girls, we were like
rejected doll parts., thrown down the chute into some
cellar.
We couldn't dance to save ourselves, we boundered from
one foot to the other, flapping our arms, and the
other little girls, those perfect little girls with
the upturned noses, the rosebud lips, and baby blue
eyes would scowl at us.
When we had shows, every summer, in Hamilton town
Hall, we were put at the back. Out of sight.
the pretty ballerinas at the front.
But we had our talent. One that made us good.
We could tap dance.
You see, theres no point in being patient and delicate
when you tap dance. The aim of the game was to move
quickly, and to make noise. And thats what we did,
every saturday. Toe tapping, heel clipping, not
standing there at the bar getting tired from holding
your leg in the air, worrying that you might fart, in
those little soft shoes.
I wasn't in Ruths class, but I loved tap dancing.
Running around... shuffling hoping, ball-step, shuffle
hop ball-step, getting some faster more fun music, not
that classical mozart ballet nonsense.
I even got to be in the opening sequence to one of the
shows. That put a few noses out of joint. Miss Clark
shouted at me less on Saturdays.
My parents got a laminated wooden floor in the hall
way, and I would practise there, for every lesson.
I didn't have to remember stupid french names like the
Bra Ba or whatever. (I never did french at school, so
forgive me for my awful phonetical spelling).
It was exactly like it was told. Shuffle. Fast
shuffle. Ball step. All the steps had proper names.
My last show was in 1989. I moved to Livingston that
year, only weeks before our annual performance. So my
parents would drive me through to Hamilton, twice a
week, to dance. Ruth had even less to do with me after
I moved.
She stuck to the other little girls. At school, she
was my best friend, but at dancing, she didn't like me
at all.
We had three shows in a week. I had to have my hair
tiedback into a tight bun, and sprayed mericlessly
with hairspray. I hated having it tied back like that.
I didn't mind when we got to dress up. For one show,
we dressed up in black leotards and leggings, with
white tap shoes with white satin ribbons and little
orange skirts with sequins on them, and a headband
with a feather- we were supposed to be a little tribe
of American Indians.
Another show, we wore green leotards and chiffon fairy
wings with ballet shoes with ribbons wrapped up our
calves. You can bet I was tucked away at the back for
most of that one.
After the last show, as I got ready to go home, Miss
Clark walked across the changing room towards me, as I
put on my jacket and stod next to my mum.
She gave me a gift.
A little pair of three inch long pink satin ballet
shoes, in a clear plastic tube. She said thankyou,
and told me good luck, then she grabbed me and pulled
me close to her for a hug, holding me so tightly, I
spluttered on the smell of her cigarettes and could
barely breathe.
I didn't go to any more dance classes after that. The
doctor said I had flat feet, and that ballet shoes
weren't suitable for little girls with flat feet,
since they had no support.
So then I took up swimming, and recieved praise, and
enthusiastic words of encouragement.
Besides which, if people shout at you, it doesn't
sound quite so bad under water.
love
idles
xxx
=====
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/corduroysmoke/ starting playground gossip and passing notes
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