Sinister: Revert to type in times of fear

[Alasdair Cook MC1996]

I shall respond to some points today, since I have nothing better to do
with my time and since my name seems to have been dropped on occasions
over the past week, almost to the point where it is displaying evidence
of minor bruising. I expect no sympathy. It is, after all, only a name.
On to business, firstly Mr Pinefox (one has to ask, does the 'glove'
feel lonely to have been left out? This is probably a rhetorical
question. Probably) who said:

> If only Tim Popkins were here, it might be in order to muster some great 
> jokes along the lines of,
> 
> Just Live Devon
> Stairway To Devon
> Devon In A Wild Flower

Or even, if I were trying to really antagonise the old man, I might
propose 'Near Wild Devon'. Although he might (with any luck) have no
idea what I was talking about and I would be excused a beating. And
having never been to fairest Sidmouth I cannot say that 'wild' could not
be further from the truth. I have absolutely no idea. Enlighten me. When
staring out to sea, what does one see? Africa or South America? 

> I appreciate his solicitude for the 
> treasures of the text; but I think he's mistaken, cos I said:
> 
> >>This list has fair exploded into a forest fire of action in the last week 
> >>or so
> 
> which does not involve any explicit allusion to similitude.

Point well made, and taken in my usual good humour. Obviously I was too
caught up in the blaze to study the text closely enough. Or perhaps I
was just looking for a cheap laugh. It wouldn't be the first time, as
many of you know.

After a brief intermission, he continues:
>  I think 96 had 
> been attending too many shows in Camden and getting amazing vibes about pop 
> about pop. When I say too many shows, I mean the opposite: he'd been, he'd 
> seen - and he'd got the picture. I think - I'd like to think - he's bang on. 
> He bangs on, too, sometimes. Or does he?

Unfortunately no, I did not get the picture. Not on film anyway. But in
my mind the exposure is fresh, and still excites me, in a strange way
which possibly even I don't understand. I could have sworn that guitar
was re-strung...
I particularly like the way Mr Pinefox says 'about pop' twice. The
second time it should be shouted. ABOUT POP! I do bang on. In an
altogether unhealthy way.

On to LunaLilly, who dribbled:
> he looked like SM so much. But I know why in the 
> hell would he be in Omaha. So it wasn't him. But how I wish it was and he 
> would have slid up to my table and said "my I really like your powerpuff girl 
> watch....and you are so lovely ...you would look so good in my car."

Which unfortunately conjured up disturbing images of Stuart M stuffing
Lilly into the boot of his car, laughing all the while at some
half-remembered joke, proffessing to be doing 'God's bidding' as his
church crumbles down around him. But then that's complete nonsense, of
course. Hey, I've just read Stuart's thing about the manpower auction.
Sounds fantastic! What a top bloke. Pity I have no obvious  talents to
offer, and little money with which to bid. Although the money is for
charity, so I may be cajoled. I often am.

Then Ian piped up:
> Someone mentioned breasts, so I thought I'd contribute an Alistair Cook 
> style poem:
> 
> I'm most impressed,
> With your pendulous breasts,
> But may I suggest,
> It's time you got dressed.
> 
> Mmmmm....not bad....

Not bad indeed young sir, it has even inspired me:

I feel such lust
For your sumptuous bust
That your patent disgust
Is simply unjust

I'm not doing drugs
But I've been round at Doug's
And he said that your jugs
Are better than Suggs'

I'd better stop now, or I'll be hit. Actually, I think I've already
passed that point. I will suffer injuries, most probably.

The curiously named 'DelyM2' then asked:
> PS: Is there some kind of rotting tree in Glasgow that is a must see?? 

None that I can think of, although there may well be. There is one in
Greenwich Park, but that's in London, which isn't Glasgow (despite my
attempts to will it otherwise, on certain occassions). No, far more
likely that you are thinking of the famous garotting flea. The garotting
flea killed two people in 1977 by jumping to their neck height and
strangling them with a spider's web. It was never caught by police,
despite the most sophisticated magnifying glasses being used, and it
never struck again after apparently suffering ligament damage when
attempting to kill a Mr Perambulate of Yoker. It was so famous in fact,
that a poem was written at the time by Gordon McQueen, the former
Manchester United and Scotland star. It is entitled simply "The wee flea
they couldnae see".

The garotting flea
Killed almost three
Until the queen's jubilee
Saw it injure it's knee

Poetic, to say the most.

Finally, there was Velocity Girl's rather strange dream. Quite apart
from the fact that anyone who dreams of me should probably visit a
hospital (oh, you have been?), I found it rather amusing, and altogether
charming. Not unlike the woman herself.

And on that note, I shall take my leave for today. The hills look really
good at the moment, what a beautiful night. Goodbye.

Alasdair xx
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