"Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!" If only Keats had realised quite how prophetic his words (pub. 1820, fact fans) would turn out to be! For I shall now narrate for you the true story of our modern Isobel, whose cello will surely become *her* Pot of Basil, which her tears will keep "ever wet." But who is that mysterious person who said "’scape at once from Hope’s accursed band...?" The scene: a hotel room, somewhere in the American Midwest. The telephone tinkles. The alabaster arm of our Scottish heroine emerges from under a puffy eiderdown and crisp white sheets. Isobel: Shit, where’s that fucking phone? The delicate fingers fumble around the bedside table, knocking a glass of Perrier onto a bowlful of untouched granola, before finding and lifting the receiver. Isobel: Hello? Bill Wells: ‘Ello sweetheart, how are you? Isobel: Bill, you lousy bastard, you woke me up! Bill Wells: But Izzy, darling, I’ve got the raging horn and I just had to phone you. I thought you could, y’know, help me get it out of my system. Isobel: Oh Bill, you’re so funny. Bill Wells: I fooled you for a second though, didn’t I? (Hey reader, were you fooled too? Well the author ought to say that she had considered making Bill and Bel enjoy an ecstatic, virtual, transatlantic SESH, but frankly, the thought makes her feel thoroughly queasy, so she has chosen to employ a *cunning* plot device to avoid producing a puddle of vomit on the floor of her flat, which would be a bugger to clean up, especially from the gaps between the floorboards. Back to the story...) Isobel: (simperingly) Ha ha, Bill, you’re so funny. Not like those boooooring band mates of mine. Do you KNOW what they want to do today? SOUNDCHECK. Can you belieeeeeeve it? Bill Wells: Oh, my little Belly Button, they *are* awful. You know, you’ve been propping them up all these years, you’re the one with the talent, you know. Isobel: (simperingly) Do you think so, Billy Goat? Bill Wells: Of course! Your songs are so obviously the best, you sing far better than the others and nobody can play the cello *quite* like you. Isobel (simperingly) But Silly Billy, where would I be without them? Bill Wells: What? WHAT? Where would they be without you? That is the real question. Let me give you an example. I firmly believe they would never have got to number fifteen in the hit parade without your outstanding efforts on Legal Man. I mean, that video was GENIUS. Isobel (falteringly) S..S..So, what should I do? Bill Wells: Leave the band, Bel. Leave them now! Isobel: Are you serious? Bill Wells: Deadly. Isobel: No! Bill Wells: Yes! Isobel: Alright, you win. Sod soundcheck, I’m going SHOPPING! Isobel puts down the phone, leaps naked from her bed, pulls on her pencil skirt, kitten heels and flouncy blouse (note: no underwear, that tart!) then grabs her handbag and makes like Carrie out of Sex and the City and heads downtown. ********** Another room in the same hotel, somewhere in the American Midwest. The telephone tinkles. An ARM OF SEX reaches across a desk and lifts the receiver. Struan: Hello? Bill Wells: It’s me. The job’s done, she’s gone. So... am I... in? Struan: Well, we need to keep it quiet for the moment but... you did say you can play the cello, didn’t you? FIN Disclaimer: Look, I didn’t get much sleep last night, OK? Juicy Lucy ===== The one, the only Glasgow Indie List! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/glasgow-indie/ __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Everything you'll ever need on one web page from News and Sport to Email and Music Charts http://uk.my.yahoo.com +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ +---+ 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! +-+ +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+