I tried putting Jelly Babies and rum out on the bird table every night - nothing. I tried blasting the talking book version of Oh What A Lovely War & Browning's' Porphiyrias' Lover out of my dad's car radio - nothing. I even tried a six foot phallus scented with mixed fruit and Channel No 5, but, alas not a sausage. This time I am determined to catch him. I have set up a sophisticated surveillance system at vast personal expense. Well, I saved up with my pocket money and I've been washing a few cars and mowing a couple of lawns (including the lawn of the old man at the end of the road, apparently he used to be in charge of a children's home in Birmingham in the 70's, nice. He invited me in for a 'drink or whatever', but I had to go, my tea was ready, and I needed to shower) to subsidise my meagre allowance but I have installed it none the less. Honest John the Bastard, or shitty to his friends has sold it to me. It consists of five and a half miles of tensioned string, eight hundred noise boxes, which to me look like old tin cans with marbles in 'em, but Honest John the Bastard assures me there not, a penny farthing and a large net. The string is to be placed in a clockwise direction around my village from the Spar shop owners' wing mirror on him Fiat van, the vicar's cock on top of the spire and from there it is attached to the handle to the door of the girls loos at the local school (that third one will be tricky). The noise boxes are to be set 2 metres apart and must have at least 3 marbles in each. I have arranged for Gay Jeremy from BBC 1's popular Airport to stand on 24 hour guard, hang on - You alright J - ooo, I sat on me walkie talkie, roger, roger, ooo how queer, - Who's Roger, oh I see, sorry Ahh, bless, he's a trooper. A-hem. Yeah, he's fine. His pin prick (I said pin prick) eyes will search the vast blue above our heads and give me early warning. We have arranged that when something fly's into view he is to clap his hands to give me early warning. So the idea being that I'll jump into action when he gives me the clap (I said clap.) I'll come tearing out of the camouflaged HQ on my penny f waving my net, and if all goes to plan I could have me a poetry parrot, or that retched dinosaur arse hole. I heard that he's trying to snuff the parrot out so that he can be the new poetry hard man, a sort of gay Dirty Den. I know that the parrot often takes short cuts round my way, I think he stops off at the Spar, once I saw him buying 20 B&H and some lighter fluid and quoting Whitnail & I, "I demand fine wine and cake". God, I would love it if the poetry parrot came round here. +----------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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" +-+ +----------------------------------------------------------------------+