Sinister: Bedsit infamy, they've all got it in for me!

[Alder, Lucy]

As Saturday night drew closer, I became increasingly up for a Big Night Out.
With a full face of make-up, freshly painted nails and hair that, for once
in my life, was behaving itself, I was just hunting for my bus pass when the
phone rang.  "Sorry Lucy, all our trains into London have been cancelled -
we're not going to be able to come".  I sighed a little sigh, sat down in my
full face of make-up, freshly painted nails and hair that, for once in my
life, was behaving itself and switched on Stars In Their Eyes.

But what a treat it was!  "Tonight, Matthew, I'm going to be Phil Oakey of
the Human League" squeaked a weaselish little chap before disappearing
behind a cloud of dry ice.  After the transformation, the likeness was just
uncanny.  He had the lopsided haircut, he had the dangly earring, he had the
moves, he had the voice, he wanted our love action!  He was grand and he
should have won, but the audience preferred to vote for a schoolgirl being
Kelly Le Rock.  Darned teenagers, they're always up to no good.  Other
treats of the evening included a shit impression of Gary Barlow (as if the
real GB isn't shit enough) and a Jennifer Rush with jaw-jut.

Prompted by a programme about Jimmy Saville last week, I began thinking
about favourite Jim'll Fix Its.  I remember one matronly woman whose dream
it was to meet Tom Jones.  She'd been in the front row at a Tom Jones
concert once and he'd wiped his sweaty brow on her hankie, since which time
she'd kept it in a plastic bag in her freezer.  Jim brought Tom to the
lady's house, she dug the hankie out from between the bags of frozen
vegetables and he mopped his brow with it once more.  The housewife went all
wibbly.  So, the question I need to ask is if any of the victorious ATP
footie team kept a hanky with some of Stu M's blood on it?  I'd like to keep
it in my freezer.

Massive props to Pelican Rob for mentioning infected cysts on the list.  One
of the 'friends' who blew me out on Friday night can't stand to hear the
words 'pus' or 'phlegm' - they give her the willies.  I'm thinking about
sending her a cyst-laden email to see if it doesn't have the same effect.
Rob also wondered what we'd do if we had a copy of the new B&S album.  I'm
pretty sure I'd decide immediately which song I liked the least and then
spend hours and hours trying to decide which one I liked the best.

Miss Llew enquired
>>What did Italy ever produce...besides Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and
the Renaissance?

I'm desperately trying to think of Italians who've made an impact on the
charts, outside their own country, but I can only think of Sabrina ("Boys,
boys, boys, I'm looking for a good time...")  Any pop trivialists out there
care to help me?

For a split second on Sunday morning, I was tempted to enter next year's
London Marathon.  Then I remembered the cardinal rules of marathon running,
as taught to me by my Dad who has done nine of them and was once the first
fancy dress runner to cross the line (he was a fairy and David Coleman got
his name wrong):

Put vaseline on your nipples, otherwise they'll bleed all down your vest
Put vaseline on the insides of your thighs, otherwise they'll bleed all down
your legs
Don't pop that big blood blister anywhere near the living room carpet
Don't think about painting your toenails after the race, because you won't
have very many left
Steer well clear of people who foam at the armpit or look like they'll puke
at the finish

And on that rather foul and disgusting note, I'll go and get myself some
lunch.  Buon appetito, amici!

Juicy Lucy




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