Sinister: Rejected by rodents

[Tim Hopkins]

Just a few bits of irrelevant rubbish for you again.
Read it, or don't, see if I care. Actually, I care
desperately, but I'm not going to tell you that, am I?

Robin said:
> I think the closest you can get to real life is
> "kitchen sink" drama.

That is certainly true here in Sinister Towers,
Rotherhithe, where we like nothing more of an evening
than playing through great scenes from kitchen sink
classics. Many's the time when Stevie Trousers is
Dicky Burton in 'Look Back In Anger', away in his room
blowing his horn, while I am upstairs shooting fat old
women in the arse with an airgun in a wildly amusing
pastiche of my favourite scene in 'Friday Night and
Saturday Morning'. Sometimes Sez is Rita Tushingham to
Stevie's Murray Melvin in 'A Taste Of Honey'. Meaning
I get to be moaning old Dora Bloody Bryan. Again. 

'A Taste Of Honey'. Quite gets my juices flowing, I
can tell you. 

Nickole:
> told me that i had to go to the spreadeagle 
> because once he (or someone..) saw graham coxon in 
> here. 

There weren't any obvious members of Blur hanging out
on Friday. Trousers said he saw Robert Elms but I
reckon it was just any old ginger. A few months ago
when we were stoking ourselves with beer before the
emotional rollercoaster which was The GoBetweens
reunion at the Jazzmag Café, we saw one of the Field
Mice, on the corner outside the pub. He looked sad
(we'd have been disappointed in a Field Mouse if he'd
looked all chipper) and was waiting for ages, looking
all lost. Eventually we prevailed upon Steady Mike
Stand Jones to go and invite him to come for a beer
with us. We were turned down flat. The mistake Mike
made was telling Big Bad Bob that we were all big
Field Mice fans. He should have said that none of us
sitting round the table could have given a shiny shite
about the mewlers in question. Not only would this
have given Bob another good reason to be miserable
(and hence good material for further jaunty pop
songs), it would also have been true. Sensitive
singer-songwriters know when you are lying, you know.
They're like your mum. 

Mister Alistair 'Fortune' Cookie said:

> I don't think I can actually enjoy dancing to a
> song unless I like the song

Now I'm not a great one for shaking a tail feather at
the best of times, you'll be relieved to hear, whether
or not I like the music that is on. I recently had a
fine time  strutting my sadly non-proverbial stuff on
a revolving dance floor in a club on a boat in sunny
Newcastle Upon Tyne. A big boat, mind. I'm sure a
correspondent with a greater knowledge than mine of
stottie cakes and Lambton worms will tell you the name
of the place. Reader, you would have been *mortified*
if you'd seen the number of townies, neds and pikeys
in the place, honestly, it was full of those born to
the lower orders and *not like us*. God alone knows
what manner of musical misery I was being fed, but I
had a fantastic time dancing while the world revolved
around me. Actually, I fear I may have consumed enough
beer that the world would have been revolving anyway,
but it was fabulous nevertheless. And my friend
cracked his head open on this concrete spiral stairway
when the centrifugal force sent him careering from the
floor. How we laughed. 

Dicky Knee had his delicate sensibilities offended:

> Have the band really been working on a track about
having a poo?  That's just revolting!

I think it's nice to have some solids to go alongside
'Ease Your Feet Into The Wee'. Of course we have
already had 'The Boy With The Arab Crap' and 'Dirty
Dream Number Twos', but I'm not sure they count. 

Steve Kado (any relation to Ernie K Doe?) said:

>what you're all so mad about
>isn't _sitars_ per se its lame sitar playing.
>...perhaps people shouldn't be so hasty to poop on
>indian musical instruments in general
tsk.

Oooh! Tsk is it? 
It was the horrific use of sitars in rock or pop which
I was talking about. It would take a piece of
blithering idiocy of Morrissey-esque proportions (“All
reggae is vile”) to take a position on a whole
nation's or culture's musical forms. Although I'm no
expert on Indian music (though I do like the odd bit
of bhangra in my life, which is some of the way I
guess) I wouldn't dream of pooping on all Indian
musics. However, I wipe my arse on 'Tomorrow Never
Knows', which leaves some nasty red lesions on some
rather tender flesh. 

A nasty thought occurred to me this morning. You know
how pet owners are supposed to grow to look like their
pets? I fear I may be taking on many features of my
favourite place in the world, i.e. the pub. I realised
that I am stained with, and stinking of, old bad beer
and stale cigarettes, my upholstery is looking
distinctly worn, and there is a suspicious odour
drifiting from the toilet area. I'm not sure this is a
good thing. I think it was brought about by my
exposure to the marvellous but slightly soiled 'In
Southern Waters' by Ian Marchant which I very much
enjoyed reading. Sensitive types beware, though - JD
Salinger it is not. 

Looking forward to your contributions to the Looper
profanathon. Any queries, please feel free to ask me. 

Play nasty, kids

Tim




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