Sinister: Submarine

[P F]

So this is how the summer ends. With torrents and
flooded gutters.

I left home (home!) today just as the rain started
battering down. By the time I reached the station I
was so wet, I might as well have been in the shower,
fully clothed. Then the rain ceased its hostilities,
and left me undercover and wailing internally about
nature's seeming injustice. At the time it was
terrible, but I can smile about it now.

I remember when it was all quiz nights around here.
The bus through the deep blue evenings over Waterloo
Bridge and down to the space-age architecture of
Rotherhithe. The questions about time zones and
airports, and always about Reality TV, presumably so
that I could have something about which that I could
be satisfied, rather than sorry, to be ignorant.

Chris Perriman pulled the joke of the day by replacing
his bonkers claim that the old Foxgloves song 'Chicken
In A Bucket' sounds like 'The Model' with the
seemingly even more bonkers claim that it sounds like
'Family Tree'. The trouble is, this claim is not 100%
bonkers. Essentially the songs are very dissimilar;
but there is just about enough resemblance at the
level of the chords of their respective verses (let's
say, G-D-F-C; A-E-G-D) to make the claim impossible
utterly to dispel; unless anyone thinks they can do
it, and wants to do it for me. Me, my fingers grow
tired.

Heather emerged from nowhere and referred to Lloyd
Cole. If you're not going to say much, you might as
well allude to Lloyd, that's what I say; and she did.

Chu referred to me in his tale. I appreciated that, as
no other frigger had done so. Though Chu's grasp of
tense was poor, I thought his feel for detail actually
rather good. There was the colour; the gin & tonic;
the random references to Lloyd Cole; the Editor - yes,
Chu did a pretty good job, there, if truth be told,
though next time I want him to improve on this
offering and write 2500 words about how grate I am.

Geneva Fairport wrote about London and Glasgow and set
the heather ablaze. Her post seemed to ring bells and
spark flints. In fact - I have just remembered it -
amid all the fab detail, she referred to the pinefox
too. Astoundingly - this really is remarkable and
worth reporting - she alluded to an UNWRITTEN SONG by
the pinefox. In an age when most people don't even
bother with the written ones, that is pure class.

I fear that the San Francisco picnic, in all its
exotic improbability, is a potent rival for the Great
Lakes one which is said to be happening round the
corner. What has happened to the Lakes picnic? Has
everyone gone jumped in the lake? And why can't that
last sentence be correct? It's not fair.

The cars are rushing through puddles and churning up
endless raindrops outside. So this is how the summer
ends.


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