Hi Sinister. Mr. Casarotto looks forward to a flurry of posts off the back of this new album. I figured I'd use that as an excuse to post. Plus, Robster and Caitlin appeared in the same digest so I figure I'm in friendly old company and not at all lost in the swathes of scary new people. Not that I'm really scared of course: it's all affectation, being the new posing, black or whatever. Whatever. I must say I haven't played a Belle and Sebastian album for months. You know, some pop songs carry good memories with them but I confess even Tigermilk raises the spectre of miserable times. Boo. They're quite good though, for a band. I am, currently, high on the bonhomie of Reggae, bought in bulk on the cheap from Fopp. Goes with the hot, sunny weather. Talking of cheap CD's, I noticed you can buy 'Pirates of the Carribean' on disc *already* down at the Barras market. They hand out photocopied lists of all their stuff. 4 movies for a tenner. The polis wandered past and everyone scarpered. 'F***in' usless, that kid.' muttered a bald, sunburned heavy who'd woken up at 4am that morning to ferry the folks and the kids from the airport, 'We pay the wee sh**te to look out for them and there he is, staring at the pavement. I'll get someone else.' The poor, hapless youth looked so innocent, too. You know those situations where you just know you're about to be accused of failing to make small talk? Well I do. She said 'You know, you don't talk much.' I replied 'No, I suppose I don't.' The conversation staggered onto holidays. She looked at me, perplexed. 'You know, Turkey. Istanbul: Istanbul's in *Turkey*.' 'Oh, that's nice.' 'Uhuh.' It was all so much better talking to drunk people in Soho. 'I was invited to become Robert Plant's second mistress. Down at his recording studio in the country, his secretary explained to me that the post offered free gifts, maybe a bit of jewellry and some travel.' Robert Plant, by the way for all youze kidz, was in a rawk band in the dim and distant glory days of leather biker jackets and epic bombast and smoking hash in Morrocco. I suppose things haven't changed much. I SHARED AN ANTIQUE LIFT WITH GRETA GARBO's GHOST Well, not exactly, but she'd stayed in the same hotel once. In Istanbul. GORDON's MINT TEA. It's really good, even if I do say so myself. The secret ingredient, the one the berber guys who make it regularly do *not* use, is cinnamon. Anyway, it's dead simple and the summer drink of mes jours. Take lots of mint leaves from my mum's garden (I'll ask her if you want, maybe), rip them up a la Jamie Oliver, place in a glass, with the aforementioned cinnamon and too much demerara sugar (the berbers like their sugar, as do their camels) and, hey presto! A deliciously refreshing beverage that won't even get you drunk. You'll need boiling water too, come to think of it. Oh, and the Cardigan's 'Gordon's Garden Party' on the stereo, for that me me me feeling, if you're, erm, me. I'm looking forward to a couple of gigs. The Pernice Brothers are recommended by the blogtastic <a href="http://shazz.journalspace.com/">Shazz</a>, who play the wonderfully named King Tut's Wah Wah hut in Glasgow on ... hmm, I can't find the listings. Next week sometime. Then and, I can't wait, the RED BULL DOZERS in the same city, yeah! Are you going to be selling CD's after the gig, Ken? Perhaps also a NVIP's party, after? Ken, by the way, is the reclusive songwriting genius behind the 'DOZERS for all you uninitiates, last seen making out with some beautiful women perhaps, allegedly, in that motel at the edge of the Arizona Desert miles out of LA and as featured in the movies. Gees, I don't half talk rot. Last seen in '66, recovering from a bad acid trip, la la etc. etc. PUT A BIT OF EFFORT INTO YOUR POSTS. REMEMBER, OTHER PEOPLE MAY READ IT I don't think so. And, anyway, it'll ruin my flow, know what I mean? Ok, here's a bit of vital info. About beards. I have a short one myself at the moment. Oh no! me pubes have migrated! Blech! Yuk. Anyway, pilots. Evidently no airline pilots have beards, because it would prevent them from fitting their oxygen masks properly. Maybe that's why all those air aces from World War One sported dashing 'taches. Look, I already explained I was no use at small talk. I think I'll stare into space for awhile instead. ... 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 +-+ +-+ Snipp snapp snut, sa var sagan slut! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+