Sinister: Love jumped through my window last night

[Martin Robinson]

Hello,

Ok so it wasn't love that jumped through my window it was a cat. And
technically ,no, it didn't jump it just stared through the open window.
But you know what I mean. And don't ask why my window was open in the
midst of winter as I'd have to explain the eccentricities of the central
heating in my abode, and that would involve diagrams and a Liebig
Condenser's and it would all get a bit tricky. Back to the cat though,
my instant reaction in face of this tabby lardy intruder from down the
road was to spit loudly and supposedly catlike, which is quite difficult
to do without projecting phlegm, at said cat. As it wandered off
eventually I heard a very strange noise, I swear it was laughing at me.
Ho hum...

Today I have become exceedingly frustrated with the contemporary music
scene, by this I mean I've forgotten to bring any CD's to work to listen
to. Therefore, I've decided to invent a new musical genre for the next
century. That being: Gangster Indiepop. It shall be bands wearing
clothes they stole from their parents, and songs about stealing sweets
from the tuckshop, not paying for the whole journey on the bus, playing
knock down ginger (and I don't mean punching Geri Haliwell) and other
real life documentation's from the streets of Suburbia. And they'll mean
it maaan.

And while we're down with the Gangster scene, I still haven't bloody
found that new Stereolab CD though I still have the case and cover.
Which like Brad's haemorrhoids is a complete pain in the a(r)s(s)(e). If
anyone wants to be part of the Gangster scene and copy it for me,
preferably onto CD, they would get a lot of props and stuff, and I'd do
them something or someone in return like. I just B*grudge buying the
same CD twice.  B*grudge by the way are the grungy alter-ego band of
B*witched that play grunge with a Celtic flavour. Nice.

And also bizarrely this week I've been told I could possibly be sent to
Paris, France for 6 weeks to do some "user acceptability testing".  I've
know idea what this involves, but if it does mean saying yes this is
acceptable and no this really isn't acceptable alternatively whilst
drinking red wine and munching cheese then I feel I am totally capable
of doing this. But I suspect my boss could be one of those nice
apocalypticphobe types and he's just making up stuff for everyone so
they have a joyous last three weeks of existence.

Anyhow I must apologise for my length, it's got a mind of its own.

Te ra,

Martin

ear confection recordings
(http:/www.send.demon.co.uk)

P.S I've noticed the appending of private messages to mails so I've
subscribed my mum to the list now to keep her informed. Mum, can you
clean the projected phlegm off my window and I'll be home at 5 for tea.
Can I have fish cakes? Please!!

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