Sinister: Bring Me The Head of Don Revie

[Michael Jones]

Ooh, it's bin ages, giv' us a squeeze !

All England seems to be uproar right now over the approaching Total
Eclipse of the Queen Mother.  Last time it happened of course, she
was plain old Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, working in a laundrette in
Upminster, and everyone had to listen on the wireless.  This time
it's on the telly *and* in the actual overhead sky and should be a
rare treat for those with an interest in astroaristocratic hi-jinks. 
Next Wednesday, shortly before noon, the QM's decaying visage will be
occluded by Keith Moon and the rivers will run red with Tizer. 

I'm sorry.  It's the heat.

I must say, I'm a bit scared by this Lionel Blair Pickety-Witch Alan
Parsons Project thread.  At first I thought it was a run-of-the-mill
gossipfest, but, about 3 days ago, we were all plunged into the Dark
Wood of Extended Gainsaying and, if it goes on much longer, I might
have to hide behind my chair.  The film itself is only receiving a
limited release in the UK.  I understand it'll be projected onto a
bus shelter in Leamington Spa at 4 in the morning with the
soundtrack, dubbed into Urdu, blaring from the dashboard speakers in
an Austin Montego illegally parked outside Netto three streets away. 
Double-bill with "My Favorite Asshole".

Lesley-Jo machined-gunned the following words into our hearts:

> i can understand now
> why men are so intimidated by females sexually, and feel the need
(some of
> them that is) to objectify. they KNOW that women can sexually kick
their
> asses from here to Saturn. Ha!

To be fair, men do still pound women into the dust when it comes to
all-over body hair.  Women push men through a plate-glass window and
then successfully sue for criminal damage when it comes to
functioning ovaries though.  And I think it goes almost without
saying that men frame women for murder and then win the lottery with
respect to the size of the Adam's Apple.  Vive la difference
physiologique !  A creditable score-draw. 

Like wild dogs starved of the red meat of Live Pop, Pam, Tim & I
rampaged all over north London last night in search of such thrills. 
We saw The Clientele at Water Rats (King's X) and it was a treat; I
was possibly less taken than my compadres with their fluid guitar
stylings (Al Stewart lodged in my head early on in their set and I
couldn't shift the bugger) - one of whom, in a stream of
superlatives, said something to the effect of "the band Galaxie 500
could've been".  Someone somewhere has already said "the new B&S" -
which is probably misleading, but see them anyway.  Later we galloped
to the Fitz & Firkin on Great Portland Street for the Smith-Garrett
Band's brand of good-time country; I met three chums I haven't seen
in a year and went a bit doolally.  A fistful of Steady stars for the
S-G Band.

Enough of this.

Mike x.


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