Sinister: Too Busy Thinkin' 'Bout My Rodcam...

[PJMiller]

....and I ain't got time for nuthin' else.

Except sorting out a great Sinister Mystery, as is my wont from time
to time.

REPENT!

The other day, Monday to be exact, I wished Paul a very happy Saint
Paul's Day, and all hell broke loose becasue Saint Paul's Day is in
July. I am ashamed to say I was wrong.
Monday was not Saint Paul's Day, it was Saint Paul's Conversion Day,
which I believe happened on the Damascus ring-road, or was that Saul?
Frankly my dear, the important thing is this -
Paul was stuffing his "cakehole" with cake when technically he should
have been celebrating Saint Paul's Conversion Day by stuffing his
"bumhole" down the British Protection in the company of list legend
Hugh! Paul,
you'll have to "rectify" your mistake somehow.

RODPENT!

Please remember that the Roddcam is run on BORROWED resources, so if
too many of you spend too much time ogling at his melancholy keyboard
technique, it might explode. The Rodddcam is very special, and a
little bit delicate, so treat it with care.

RODHOBBY!

I've been thinking about Keith's Konundrum, and I've decided that the
following people would be shouting "LONG OG!" after a victorious game
of "garnished biscuit":

Judging by what I've read, you'd have to go a long way to beat Little
Richard. Roland Gift would be rubbish, but the bloke with the bendy
legs would keep the Fine Young Cannibals flag flying. All trombone
players would be a safe bet, as would Rimsky Korsikov, who wrote "The
Flight of the Bumble Bee" and invented the helicopter. Noddy Holder
would surely be successful on the strength of
will power and grimacing alone.

On the losing side would be former Sheffield steel worker Joe Cocker,
the guys from Kraftwerk, Robert Wyatt, Bez from the Happy Mondays, and
(on purpose) Marc Almond, formerly of Soft Cell.

POP RODSURRECTION!

I still don't believe this Evie Sands business. I woke up this morning
convinced I'd been dreaming, but then who would have such a freaky
dream? People from all over the world, well, Glasgow, Edinburgh and
Balfour, converging on Hyndland Church Hall to hear one of the
greatest singers in the history of the world*, who's probably spent
the
last thirty-five years sitting on her front porch smelling of cat
widdle. Amazing! I hope someone's going to interview her properly.
Tag, you're a vastly experienced journalist, you do it. I'd like that.

Peter


"Who else had Maideen ever known to talk about but herself?"**

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