Sinister: went the day (and night) well...

[Jeremy.Simon at xxx.com]

It's been so long...

The last few weeks have been a dark journey through the soul. Not a particularly
interesting one, but it does get relevant towards the end, so bear with me. Two
weeks off work in August resulted in me unsubscribing for a while, and on my
return I was horrified to discover that my devotion to the cause had severely
lessened. And I remained unsubscribed.

Previously I had only to listen to Slow Graffiti to be transported to Bowlie
back in April, and to be once more gazing at Stuart and Isobel all bathed in a
blue wash, a tear in my eye.
The breakdown of LLPJ would have me clapping like a loon in my front room, the
ghosts of Tigermilking past crowding my eyes and ears. (I even found that by
stamping hard near enough to my hifi I could make the CD skip in true authentic
fashion).
Century of Fakers would take me back every time to 1997, lying in the bath, Mark
& Lard on the graveyard shift playing the latest EP from everyone's newest
favourite band.

But then something changed (for a while) and a still sad music of apathy began
in my heart. The fire was out.

UNTIL...

Last Saturday.

It was something about Nick D's good looks and dancing feet; the Paula 'n'
Brendan Comedy Explosion;  Archel's chocolate fingers (a heroic last ditch
attempt to keep things good and smutty); the genius of moving to the pub to get
out of the rain - and then sitting *outside* the pub; Carsmile's smile and
Trouser's trousers. Suddenly everything made such *sense*.

Marcus recently wrote:

"the more and more sinister people I meet and talk to and get to know a bit, the
more I get convinced that there is really something rather special here."

and he's right. It's like piecing a jigsaw together, but we're working from the
inside out. And there is no edge.

I suppose the point is: it was everybody at the picnic and everybody at
Tigermilking that made it brilliant - even people not on the list dancing
themselves stupid to another of Mixmaster Sam's exclusive B&S scratch remixes.
This is the spirit of the thing, and why it reaffirmed my faith in B&S and a
whole lot more. So lets make the next one even bigger and better. Everyone come.
Everyone.

I'm starting to sound like an NME journalist now (i.e. completely incoherent),
so I'll stop.

But just time for a quick B&S related incident, in the spirit of the list of
old. It would appear that they've been playing IYFS on pretty heavy rotation in
the Notting Hill Retro Clothes Shop (Ladies) (I was buying 6" silver stack
heels). But curiously on a noticeably fast speed - presumably to check that
crazy retro vibe, for it turns out Stuart M. at the wrong speed sounds a *lot*
like Nancy Sinatra.

I'm off to phone a friend, Chris, cos there are times when tea and sympathy just
ain't enough.

Lots of love and cheaply bottled sentiment,

J. D. Salinger

or
Jeremy
or
 more simply
Jez

whatever

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"you take a really sleepy man, Esmé, and he always stands a chance of again
becoming a man with all his fac - with all his f-a-c-u-l-t-i-e-s intact"

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