Sinister: A DOG SAVAGED MY BIKINI

[Graham MacArthur]

Popkittens and cats alike,

hot damn! back from austria. In a whirlwind of scnapps and mountain air and
swimming in lakes, I'm back. again. Bloody bastard dogs. A sudden gust of
wind blew my fifty-knicker (thats pounds, to everyone else) bikini top off
the balcony of my hotel and a bloody DOG bit it and mauled it to no state
of repair. I watched helpless. I attempted to hit the bastard bloody dog
with one of my shoes, but I was four floors up, and missed. The woman in
reception thought this was very funny, (yeah HA de bloody HA HA) but at
least gave me some money to cover the cost of it. I'm going to make some
badges which say 'I hate Austrian dogs'. Anyone want one? I'm going to
write this message on every surface and even adorn plectrums with it.
Tommorow, I'm going to MARCH into town tommorow and buy some tape for my
dymo-labeller and start posting the message across the land. I wish I'd
scribbled it inside a few austrian toilets now I think of it. DOGS. They
dribble and they shit in your garden. JOIN ME! Write 'I hate austrian dogs'
on a surface today. Yes! free badges when photographic evidence of people
doing this is provided! (dream on, darlink) I know..

So far as Austria goes, it appears I'm quite the demon on a mountain bike.
I also climbed mountains, refusing to wear hiking boots but managing better
than all the other british people anyway - you think Red Bull packs a
punch? Try Kendall mint cake. I didn't get round to reading any Camoo as I
said, in the evenings I was too busy going on cheap wine cruises around the
Zell Am See Lake, sitting at the back of the boat with my new-found
comtemparies giggling like a bunch of teenagers. Which we quite obviously
were. We also stole someones push bike one night and took turns drunkenly
pushing eachother long on it, with gay abandon. There's a good story about
a pretty french boy, but I'm not going to tell you because it would cheapen
good gossip. I will say, however....Ding *a* Ling!

> Believe it or not, sex ed at my school was part of the R.E.
> curriculum. God only knows why, but there you go. 

In R.E at my school they wrote all the swear words with sexual connotations
on the blackboard and taught us what they meant. It was probably one of the
most useful things I learnt in the lowerschool. We had one teacher called
Mrs Tucker, whose name amusingly morphed into Mister Ker by the end of the
first term. She wasn't just ugly, she was nasty, she embarassed shy
children on purpose to get the other kids to like her more. I got my sex
education from Just Seventeen's problem pages. I think I was skiving the
one time they did it at secondary school,  because when I came back I
overheard a horriffic story of everyone being told to put condoms over test
tubes, and one boy broke the test tube attempting this and promtly started
crying.

Xavier said:

>topless or nude....'cause they're wearing pasties. So they feel like they
>have some class and dignity or something. I could be reading two far
>into this...

Did you know Kelly Brook of Big Breakfast fame says she never really poses
topless because she always hides her nipples behind a hand or a certain
side pose which doesn't show them? "I have to save something for my
boyfriend" she giggled.

On the masturbation thing I have two things I failed to mention..

1) My friend the super duper Hannah Salt (she so great, she made me two
tapes to take away with me and in some parts, she'd decided she didn't take
a song half way through but didn't bother to edit it out! fab! and her
little brother had stolen one of the tapes and put it in his dictaphone and
made funny 'wooooo' ghost noises in the middle of mogwai, which was very
funny) and I call certain over enthusiastic guitarists 'Fret Wankers'

2) Cliff Jones can come in his own mouth. Yes I did just say that. And I
know because I've seen him.

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to fall alseep for two days.

Erica
x

P.s I've currently got the poetry parrot staying with me for a bit. I'll
post some poetry soon. I read a trashy beach book on holiday where a parrot
gets drunk every sunday on everyone else's wine and booze and falls off his
perch. You can borrow it if you like, it's quite good, in a re-assuringly
crap kind of way.

P.P.s I'm so this is so fucking long, but there was something else I wanted
to say, I read a few mails after the reports came in from the last london
picnic from peeps saying they'd wished they'd come and they were jealous,
and some that were scared to come on their own - come to Tigermilking (you
know! the one with all the superfly djs and fantastic peeps!) no one bites
unless you want them too. I'll be there, in a mess and in a dress most
probably. Everyone likes meeting new people, me espcially. It's like when I
was thinking of going swimming in this river on holiday, it was freezing,
and you couldn't see the bottom which was quite scary, and I put a foot in,
and I wanted to run away, but then I jumped right in and burst out from
under the water laughing. If you need anymore persudeing you can mail me
personally. Hell, I might even tell you the prettyfrenchboy story if you're
lucky.

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