Sinister: B&S moments; White Horses; Strand

[Tim Hopkins]

Well, I've just had a weekend fairly bursting with Belle and Sebastian 
moments, like...

1) the Johnny Morris tribute on the BBC featuring Johnny PLUS a ringtailed 
Lemur (B&S count: 2: lemur (see archives); sitting around in front of a 
telly)

2) getting off the bus, drunk and scruffy with a carrier bag, at London 
Bridge Station and seeing a fox running along the railway lines (B&S count: 
4: bus; railway station; scruffy; fox).

3) getting stuck in a lift with a military man who looked down on me like I 
was never born (B&S count: 0: completely made-up story)

So yes, in fact I had but two B&S moments, but that is two more than I've 
had today at work in an office so full of antipodeans that the heating is 
permanently set to 'uncomfortable'. Bah.

What else? Oh, yes.

I should like to warn Mr. Peter Miller that his last two posts have only 
scored 5.5 each (a reasonable 7 for artistic impression, let down by a 
dreadful 4 for technical merit). At this rate, he is in danger of being left 
out of the squad for the mailinglist world championships. It is well-known 
that the Russians will have a crack squad out this time, who have been 
training on a top-secret intranet somewhere near Gorky. His progress is 
being monitored. Think on.

The last few days have been a great illustration of why it's generally a 
good idea to keep list-talk away from the list, don't you reckon?

I keep meaning to write to the list to say that I have never had a marble up 
my nose. The problem is that something in the back of my mind keeps telling 
me that, actually, I have. But I can't remember it. I can remember nearly 
choking on a big bit of bubblegum as a child, and the sub-Heimlich thing 
that saved my life also resulted in me throwing up all over my mum's best 
coat. Flavour of the month, that was me.

Abi wrote:

>i was immediately interested, because i have always had a sneaking 
> >suspicion that it is indeed rabbits who cause ALL the trouble, and >not 
>footballers/the government/satan. just you keep an eye on them, >that's all 
>i'm saying. they know more than they'd like you to think. >sitting there 
>with their twitchy noses,
>pretending they're not LISTENING TO EVERY WORD YOU SAY. and >scheming.

I am in total agreement with this. Those little bob-tailed lettuce-munching 
bastards are up to no good. Those big ears are actually satellite receivers 
and the twitching little evil bastard noses are transmitters. They have a 
string of rabbit satellites circling the globe and they are watching us and 
talking about us in a language we can't understand. They're infiltrating our 
pop music via Eddie Rabbitt, Warren G and Bunny Wailer (memo to Rabbit 
Central control: could do better here). Furthermore they're just waiting for 
the moment when they get to spray their special spray over the countryside 
and all their harmless-looking but evil-smelling droppings will turn into 
high explosive and kill us all.

You know they eat their *own* *turds*?

Ian wrote:
>6) The Airport Security was once told off by the police for calling out the 
>bomb squad on two occaisions in a week to "De-fuse" suspect packages which 
>respectively turned out to be a sleeping tramp and a briefcase full of 
>Dutch porno, including a nice line in corprophilia.

...and assuming that last word means what I think it means, then SEE? Those 
rabbity turd-munching ways get everywhere. Even the Low Countries, where 
rabbits are banned BY LAW.

You want more evidence? I give you 'Rabbit Rabbit' by Chas n Dave. I give 
you 'Bright Eyes' by that curly haired bald guy whose name I can't bring 
myself to utter. And how about the dumbassedhippyanthem to end all 
dumbassedhippyanthems? I give you 'White Rabbit' by the Jefferson Stagecoach 
or whatever they were called before steam was invented.
Pure shite.

Anyway, Keithboy wrote...

>Bloody ridiculous really, I mean, if I could have a go at >controlling the 
>list, then surely I'd make it mandatory to like the >70's WHO.

So... you mean... the time you tied me to a tree, attached leeches to my 
testes and danced around shouting "Squeeze Box y'lardy sack o' shite! Who 
Are Ye, ya big fat fucka!"...that was just for fun? I'm pleased to say that 
it didn't work, I still think 1970's WHO are a crock of 25 year old PISS. 
Yeah.

Or maybe the whole thing was just another of my many list dreams.

Off to the boozer before I do any more damage,

Tim


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