Sinister: Ooh, stick Koons, your Monet too, and your DADA

[Magda Boom]

Hello list members. Wipe that rice pudding off your face, its not becoming.

Ive been on a bit of a soul-tip recently. I would have never got through my exams without Martha Reeves and the Vandellas screeching Quick sand at 2am to keep me awake. Ive noticed something in sixties soul, and that is funny rhymes with names. I have 2 so far, maybe someone could tell me a few more and I could compile a list.

1. I saw him in the evening and my heart stood still, someone told me that his name was BILL (Da Doo Ron Ron by the Ronettes)

2. and now were Going Steady, and I found out her real name is BETTY (Puddinn Tain by the Alley Cats)

>I must say, the L*ndon p*cnic seems to be being organised with a touch more>continental flair and elan this time. No more hanging around outside tube>stations with the 16 year olds looking like we've all been stood up, oh no

I have to say, Carsmile Steve, that last summer I, as 16-year old, found it quite fun standing nonchalantly against the railings outside Camden station in a shirt and tie looking for Belle and Sebastian badges out of the corner of my eye. And you do sound old, favouring some grimy pub for the top of Primrose Hill in the summertime. You
can see right across London, and when you stumble down the hill to use the Ladies Toilet (or as me and another sinister vixen once did, roll down the hill) you often bump into little children playing in the playground next to it and have a horrific reality check in your drunken stupor.

Jay was talking about Cafes in London. Magda recommends:

Tactical on D'Arblay Street, W1, because its a bookshop inside, and theres something so splendid about being able to smoke whilst browsing the bookshelves. Its like youve been let loose in the library, the Librians swinging their pearls and throwing off their glasses, shouting Sod the books, dance in the Aisles! Smoke in the
Aisles! Snog in the Aisles, my children!.....except, people generally just sit around that certain cafe looking serious. Theres Dianas Diner, round the corner from Neil street, which is the sort of place you long for on a Sunday morning, when your head hurts and your heart fills like its filled up with ash. Walls lined with signed, faded pictures of B-rate celebrities youve never heard of, and cheap milky tea. Yes Please. 

And Bar Italia, which I love, even if the hip cats say its naff to hang around there since Pulp name-checked it. Its a good place to take boys, unless youre particularly fond of your own reflection, as it is rather tempting to keep peeping at your hair on the mirror-lined walls. 

Oh, is that the time.
Magda Boom
x

P.s Ian Nicolson, I think you are ace.





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