I was sort of aware of two persons walking past me and she asked the other 'is that Gordon?' and I marched on and it was because I was at the stage of looking pretty by a short sighted person at a distance and stinking of Baileys-fuelled puke. All over my Jermyn St. tailored Italian trousers. I'd been to see Heather Nova, and as the tension had built up to her rather late appearance on stage I'd drunk close to a bottle of the stuff and gee-whizz... it stinks. Sang a bee-gees cover as an encore. Staying Alive? Is that the bee-gees? All earlier. By the time I was walking up past the city chambers it was after having done three other things, kinda gestural and desperate. I laid meeself down to sleep on the steps of the art college, arm outstretched. 'Must be a heroin addict' 'Must be a student' I heard voices say untill I was offered an ambulance then I walked to the Royal Infirmary where I was told to call the Samaratins cos the doctor deals with 'broken bones and stuff'... no wonder girls cut themselves in order to get attention. More guts than I have. I simply throw mine up. Trying to explain, but I'm not incoherent enough. I also explained that I was very, very drunk. I wandered into the grounds of the Cathedral and to the gravelled sanctuary of the south portal, but figured this was a bit too heavy, so I was walking back to an hotel I'd reserved a room in, in Buchanan St., and that was as I was walking past. Fantanstic Dani Behr show on children's BBC1 this morning. The TV was all fuzzy but no double vision, so I saw fat cartoon Sumi Wrestlers 'big butts! big butts! the audience choruses, taking on exploding ballet dancers and another show that had replicas from various movie scenes... someone with puppy eyes and smart women around, all stealing the Koh-I-Noor and a grey thing like a Pink Panther but... whoo a Green Serpent that makes someone invisible. Earlier than any of that, I decided to visit the Saracen's Head, as recommended by Mr. Miller. I bought an L-size polo shirt for which someone had to go down a trapdoor behind the bar to fetch. Someone's writing a history of the establishment. Evidently, people send the polo-shirts to relatives in Canada. I'll probably wash and iron mine and send it to someone too. Gordon +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail sinister@missprint.org. To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to majordomo@missprint.org. WWW: http://www.missprint.org/sinister +-+ "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 +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+