I was standing at the back of Cardiff's number eight bus when I saw Stuart Murdoch come on and pay his sixty p. It was a bit of a squeeze; he had to stand right up there by the driver with his feet wide apart to stay still on the corners. I was standing just up the step at the back, where I always like to stand if the bus is too full, because you get to look down on all the people and their books and bald patches and Page Three Lovelies. Also, on the race round Death Junction the step gives an added element of danger. So I decided that what he would like to hear on an early morning like this would be for someone to tap "I could be dreaming" on the standing-room-only bar they were holding on to. No one else seemed to be doing it, so I decided to give it a go myself. I tried to be subtle: a few people looked around, but when they did i was casually glancing out of the window. He didn't seem to notice, though. In fact he got off the bus on the very next stop, pulled down the cuffs on his Woolworth's uniform and headed off along the street. I dunno, I thought he'd have liked it; it would have brightened up his morning. Maybe it wasn't him after all. Maybe the reason I keep thinking I see members of Belle and Sebastian round town is because I'm getting exited about seeing them next month. I am, and I'm getting excited about visiting Glasgow too. The last time I was there was, I think, when I was fourteen years old. The last time I saw my Great Auntie Margaret. She used to live in a high-rise flat in Bearsden, surrounded by other elevated old folk, all boxed up with their wood-panelled tellys and silver teaspoons like pharaohs in their pyramids, waiting for the weekend coach to the other side. But I didn't think Auntie Margaret was ready to go so soon. We sat behind the window, pretending we were on the balcony, and watched the squirrels that ran up and down the sides of the high rises eating the crumbs that no one would admit to leaving out but everyone did. They were great, and not at all timid. One even came and sat on the edge of the balcony, as if it was listening to my aunt tell me she'd heard that Paul Daniels, her favourite magician, had invented a new type of magic called Jazz Magic. So, to me, Glasgow is a place of aunts and squirrels and broken lifts. It'll be strange to go there again, a different person almost. The squirrels will still be there I suppose, storing up their acorns like gifts for a trip to the other side. But not dear old Auntie Margaret. I wish she was. A bit of proper content now. Stuart's been a little inspired recently, giving us this: http://www.banchory.net/belleandsebastian/030421.html and this: http://www.banchory.net/belleandsebastian/030424.html . I think his writing is grate. As is that of Paulo, my new favourite Sinisterine. Gloriously random. Thanks for that tale about your spaghetti, Paulo. I'll be sticking to baked beans from now on, I think. robin x [ by express delivery : http://www.superatomic.co.uk/blog ] _________________________________________________________________ Use MSN Messenger to send music and pics to your friends http://www.msn.co.uk/messenger +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+