Sinister: Bowlie Ink Polaroids (Or 'How I learned to stop worrying and love anal sex')

[Nick Dastoor]

I'm joining all this a bit late, as I've been off work till today.  
People have been talking about me.  I liked the way Arantxa put my 
first name in CAPITALS.  She was one of nine people I kissed at the 
weekend, but before her boyfriend hits me it wasn't one of the four 
that I kissed on the lips.  I like this Sinister Slut game.

Some Ink Polaroids:

This one looks like it was taken in a very authentic English pub.  It  
depicts a painfully thin boy grinning and shaking his hips in a 
suggestive manner at a lascivious-looking girl in glasses. There are 
several seated onlookers.  He may be performing for money.  Looming in 
the background, unbeknownst to boy,  is a group of disapproving 
looking people who look like they know the skinny boy but NOT LIKE 
THIS.  I call this one 'When Sinister and real-world friends collide'.

This is one of those crazy 'I'm taking a picture of you whilst you 
take one of me' photos.  Except I only had this ink polaroid camera so 
it's a bit different.  It's taken on lovely secluded spot on the 
dunes, but nothing rude is going on or anything - there are lots of 
people about, sitting on blankets, chatting away happily and drawing 
faces in the sand.  Anyway, the pretty girl with ice blonde hair with 
the real polaroid camera is smiling at me. Behind her sits another 
ice-blonde queen who is also pretty.  I think my picture is better 
than hers because I haven't got ice blonde hair and I'm not as pretty.  
And anyway, I don't think she's got the hang of the light-dark 
control, so hers is a bit over-exposed.

Very odd this one.  I must have been taken outdoors in middle of the 
night, and it really tests the powers of the flash.  At first all you 
can make out is the moon and several red-eyed faces looking startled 
by the photographer.  But what's that looming behind them?  Why it 
looks for all the world like a man with a horse's head emerging from 
the sea.

Another reason why ink polaroids are best: you can get away with 
taking them in concert halls. This one's during 'If You're Feeling 
Sinister'.  It's taken from a great position, only one row from the 
front and dead centre.  The band look good.  Except Straun - he needs 
to do something about his hair. All eyes are on Stevie, who is 
grinning like an idiot, clearly enjoying the adulation that his 
fantastic steel-guitaresque playing is receiving.  Mick's smiling too, 
obviously pleased with his mastery of the opening guitar chords.

Taken a few moments later, but this time from a reverse angle - I'm 
holding the camera out and pointing it at me.  And none of the 
security staff can do a thing about it.  I've got tears in my eyes.  
Behind me are a group of people I don't know. They're not crying, so 
anyone looking at the photo who didn't know what was going on might 
think they're the ones who made me cry, which isn't true, although I 
wish they would let me let my feet have their own space on the floor.

Near the bar, 30 minutes afterwards.  I don't know who took this one 
for me, but I'm glad they did. I'm looking happier than I've looked 
all weekend.  I'm kissing an super-cute girl goodbye until later.  
Except there was no later.


SPECIAL THANKS TO:

Rachel,  for starting the whole 'nick's the cutest boy on the sinister 
list' rumour.

Susannah, for failing to going along with Rachel's attempts to set us 
up.

Andy Dean, for sensibly pointing out that she would eat me alive.

Trousers, for perpetuating the 'nick's the cutest boy on the sinister 
list' rumour.  And for paying me 80p to kiss him, as well as 
contributing the 'Snog Leonard' fund.

Chris Leonard, for insisting on no tongues.

Kevan, Mark, Alisa, Alix, Mark, Vicky and Alasdair for putting up with 
me waking up your chalet two nights in a row and still finding it in 
your heart to let me play french cricket with you.

Laurel, for her one-woman Isobel Campbell bombing campaign and for 
saying that I dance like I have no bones.   Which I think was a good 
thing.

Keith, for wanking me off.

Katrina, for breezing in on Saturday morning to spoil David's 'Ooh, I 
can't tell you who the mystery guests are but they're Scottish and 
have a new album out and they were in The Face' game by saying 'It's 
Mogwai'.

Tim Hopkins imposter, for being a drunken oaf and putting up with 
Michael ra-ing on about Exeter City.

Tag, for giving me the horn.  I've lost mine - do you know how I could 
get another?

Mike, for being steady.

Giita and her friend (sorry - there was no Eastenders mnemonic to help 
me) for being those lovely Icelandic girls on the beach.  I've never 
met an Icelandic girl I don't like, so maybe I'm not the best person 
to judge.  But my flatmate Michael thought you were lovely too.

Joss, for putting up with me misunderstanding your name twice and 
thinking that you reminded me of a nice version of that annoying bloke 
off Moviedrome (not that I told you about the second bit).  And for 
joining in a Flaming Lips gushing session.

Risso, for being generally great and not taking it badly when you let 
me tell your whole long-winded Alex Ferguson / Arsene Wenger joke only 
for me to say at the end 'Yeah, I've heard that one before' like a 
little twerp.

Paul and Linda, for proving they exist.  Sorry I missed out on your 
drunken Sunday night laptop dancing, I mean laptop emailing.

The other nickie, for being in the foreground of my last ink polaroid.  
I can't believe I didn't recognise you.  Write to me!

And... Arantxa and Jordi and Rory and Pam and FluffySarah and everyone 
else.  You know who you are.  Which is just as well, as I don't know 
who you are.


Nick xxxxx

P.S.  I don't think anyone has mentioned that according to Steve 
Lamacq, Radio 1 *will* be broadcasting the B&S set at some point, but 
that the band want to hear the tapes first.  So they can doctor them 
and make them sound better, or some

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