Sinister: Dresses, caresses and Camera Obscura

[Martin Robinson]

Hello friends, monkeys and Cookie monsters,

Hope you are well and good. I think I'm going to enter the Isobel
lookalike competition mentioned here a while ago as it seems a good
excuse to pluck me eyebrows, cross dress, click my fingers and sing
Family Tree without getting odd looks from people. Well maybe I'll still
get odd looks but I'm kind of getting used to that now. Plus I have to
practice wearing dresses for this football game at the London picnic.
Though I won't want to get mine muddy or grass stained through one of
those vicious tackles Camp Casarotto dishes out, I don't think he'd even
pull out of a challenge on a lady. Well obviously he would but I was
talking football... Anyway what I meant is I'm going to sit on my fat
lookalikey arse in a dress drinking Tenant's Super. What a lady I am...

Speaking of Big Gay Mark, apart from mentioning his best friend Nobby
and fisting yet again, said something like:

> Props to that smart, wonderful, hansom Martin and his cru for the
> Betsey do the other night. It was much better than Tigermilking.

Which is nice but no bloody excuse for not having a Tigermilking night
soon. Get off your lazy gay arse young man. Actually if anyone else had
a good time seeing the wonderful Camera Obscura last Friday or is a fan
at all there is an egroup to keep up to date with what the said popsters
are up to. It's called parkandride and can be found at www.egroups.com
Email me if you have any probs getting on it.

Some smitten person also said:

> So why doesn't anybody ever talk about Sarah?

Before going on about the Sisters of Mercy. Which to be frank made me
shiver inside. Reminding me of indie clubs of years ago where your pop
music and goth music had to stand side by side, and the dancefloor had
little shifts of The Mission et al and then Blur and the Stone Roses.
You used to have to brush past the smelly, sorry strangely scented,
Goths on the way to or from the dancefloor and sometimes their dyed
black hair would be shook into your face or you'd get tangled up in the
gaping holes in their big long black jumpers. And be dragged with them
with your arms flailing, which they thought was impressive dancing, to
Jane's Addiction. I'm still go weak at the knees at the mere mention of
the Fields of the Nephilim, I mean how I can be scared of a band who
sprinkled flour over themselves I don't know. Oh I've overrun I can't
talk about Sarah now. Not even drawing or falling helicopters, oh that's
2 Sarah's sorry.

Why doesn't anyone ever talk about Oranjeboom?

Te ra,

Martin





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