No, I'm not at all, but I would like to take his mantle temporarily by forwarding the latest instalment of Belle & Sebastian's band diary as published in the "other Guardian". It's Stuart's turn again. He appears to be losing it. And giving the impression that if only he hadn't got a cold, he'd be rescuing thousands of flood victims in Mozambique. In Nicholson Baker's 'The Mezzanine', the narrator discovers that he can only overcome his self-consciousness at urinals by imagining himself pissing on top of the person who is intimidating him. Then things flow fine. Do you think the lady behond Stuart was more or less likely to buy the pie if he did it first? Personally, I revel in giving people ideas in supermarkets, but then I'm a big show off. I feel silly when I pick up the same thing as someone else just has. Unless it's a pretty girl, in which case I smirk at the thought that she might be thinking I'm doing it to ingratiate myself. "He looks like a spaceman, Marjory!" I like that. Here it is... DIARY OF A BAND 8th March 2000 There's something quite depressing about writing a diary. Writing's fun usually, but simply recalling is a denial of this present moment, when, to be honest, I'd rather be doing any of twenty other things. But I probably wouldn't do the other things. I've been dreaming on the couch in between bouts of shivers and coughs, fucked since Wednesday with some virus. "Give me a helicopter, and I'll get the kids off the roof." It can't be that hard. Point it in the general direction of Africa and let's go. Just stop fannying around. Instead, my big thing yesterday was a trip to M&S in search of a ready-made meal. It's a rubbish supermarket, it really is. Very Sixties, and strictly for the over eighties. The bread's all designed to be sucked not chewed. I felt watched. Some people can't pee when they're being watched. I can't shop. My conceit knows no boundaries, but I have this feeling the lady behind me is waiting to see if I go for a 'Cumberland Fish Pie' before she buys it. If there's any of that I'm off. I'd rather leave the shop empty-handed. But I'll probably just go round the aisle again, hover, then strike. The fish pie was very nice, and the lady at the checkout was nice for a change. In M&S, niceness is doled out on a strictly cash basis. I was walking pretty slow and upright on account of my virus, and I had wrapped up, so my clothes had a substantial quality which must have suggested to the lady that I was a respectable man. I took my bank card out of my bus pass while she wasn't looking, and it all helped. She was very chatty. Or maybe she was just nice. I don't know. Usually the impression I get is that they think I've stumbled in by mistake. Once, I happened to be wearing silver trousers, and a man, obviously trying to overcome his wife's deafness, bellowed "He looks like a spaceman, Marjory!" But I must have my fish pie. Stuart Murdoch +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ Brought to you by the undead 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 +-+ "legion of bedroom saddo devotees" "tech-heads and students" +-+ +-+ "the cardie wearing biscuit nibbling belle & sebastian list" +-+ +-+ "sinsietr is a bit freaky" - stuart david, looper +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+