Just a few bits of irrelevant rubbish for you again. Read it, or don't, see if I care. Actually, I care desperately, but I'm not going to tell you that, am I? Robin said:
I think the closest you can get to real life is "kitchen sink" drama.
That is certainly true here in Sinister Towers, Rotherhithe, where we like nothing more of an evening than playing through great scenes from kitchen sink classics. Many's the time when Stevie Trousers is Dicky Burton in 'Look Back In Anger', away in his room blowing his horn, while I am upstairs shooting fat old women in the arse with an airgun in a wildly amusing pastiche of my favourite scene in 'Friday Night and Saturday Morning'. Sometimes Sez is Rita Tushingham to Stevie's Murray Melvin in 'A Taste Of Honey'. Meaning I get to be moaning old Dora Bloody Bryan. Again. 'A Taste Of Honey'. Quite gets my juices flowing, I can tell you. Nickole:
told me that i had to go to the spreadeagle because once he (or someone..) saw graham coxon in here.
There weren't any obvious members of Blur hanging out on Friday. Trousers said he saw Robert Elms but I reckon it was just any old ginger. A few months ago when we were stoking ourselves with beer before the emotional rollercoaster which was The GoBetweens reunion at the Jazzmag Café, we saw one of the Field Mice, on the corner outside the pub. He looked sad (we'd have been disappointed in a Field Mouse if he'd looked all chipper) and was waiting for ages, looking all lost. Eventually we prevailed upon Steady Mike Stand Jones to go and invite him to come for a beer with us. We were turned down flat. The mistake Mike made was telling Big Bad Bob that we were all big Field Mice fans. He should have said that none of us sitting round the table could have given a shiny shite about the mewlers in question. Not only would this have given Bob another good reason to be miserable (and hence good material for further jaunty pop songs), it would also have been true. Sensitive singer-songwriters know when you are lying, you know. They're like your mum. Mister Alistair 'Fortune' Cookie said:
I don't think I can actually enjoy dancing to a song unless I like the song
Now I'm not a great one for shaking a tail feather at the best of times, you'll be relieved to hear, whether or not I like the music that is on. I recently had a fine time strutting my sadly non-proverbial stuff on a revolving dance floor in a club on a boat in sunny Newcastle Upon Tyne. A big boat, mind. I'm sure a correspondent with a greater knowledge than mine of stottie cakes and Lambton worms will tell you the name of the place. Reader, you would have been *mortified* if you'd seen the number of townies, neds and pikeys in the place, honestly, it was full of those born to the lower orders and *not like us*. God alone knows what manner of musical misery I was being fed, but I had a fantastic time dancing while the world revolved around me. Actually, I fear I may have consumed enough beer that the world would have been revolving anyway, but it was fabulous nevertheless. And my friend cracked his head open on this concrete spiral stairway when the centrifugal force sent him careering from the floor. How we laughed. Dicky Knee had his delicate sensibilities offended:
Have the band really been working on a track about having a poo? That's just revolting!
I think it's nice to have some solids to go alongside 'Ease Your Feet Into The Wee'. Of course we have already had 'The Boy With The Arab Crap' and 'Dirty Dream Number Twos', but I'm not sure they count. Steve Kado (any relation to Ernie K Doe?) said:
what you're all so mad about isn't _sitars_ per se its lame sitar playing. ...perhaps people shouldn't be so hasty to poop on indian musical instruments in general tsk.
Oooh! Tsk is it? It was the horrific use of sitars in rock or pop which I was talking about. It would take a piece of blithering idiocy of Morrissey-esque proportions (All reggae is vile) to take a position on a whole nation's or culture's musical forms. Although I'm no expert on Indian music (though I do like the odd bit of bhangra in my life, which is some of the way I guess) I wouldn't dream of pooping on all Indian musics. However, I wipe my arse on 'Tomorrow Never Knows', which leaves some nasty red lesions on some rather tender flesh. A nasty thought occurred to me this morning. You know how pet owners are supposed to grow to look like their pets? I fear I may be taking on many features of my favourite place in the world, i.e. the pub. I realised that I am stained with, and stinking of, old bad beer and stale cigarettes, my upholstery is looking distinctly worn, and there is a suspicious odour drifiting from the toilet area. I'm not sure this is a good thing. I think it was brought about by my exposure to the marvellous but slightly soiled 'In Southern Waters' by Ian Marchant which I very much enjoyed reading. Sensitive types beware, though - JD Salinger it is not. Looking forward to your contributions to the Looper profanathon. Any queries, please feel free to ask me. Play nasty, kids Tim ===== __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Bid and sell for free at http://auctions.yahoo.com +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the reborn Sinister mailing list +---+ To send to the list mail "sinister@majordomo.net". To unsubscribe send "unsubscribe sinister" or "unsubscribe sinister-digest" to "majordomo@majordomo.net". WWW: http://www.majordomo.net/sinister +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "jelly-filled danishes" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+